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Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks. 



Part II., May, 18S6, to October, iS 



Copyright, 18S6, by The Century Co. 

The DeVinne Press. 

Library, Univ. ©f 
North Carolina 




Six Months — May, 1886, to October, 1886. 



About Breathing Llellen Clark Swasey 946 

Adventure at the Flume, Our. (Illustrated) II'. L S44 

Ambitious Kangaroo, The. Jingle 4. R. Wells S53 

Amusing the Baby. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) ...... Eva Lovett Carson 706 

Army, An. Verses A. C 757 

Art and Artists, Stories of. English Painters. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement . ... S03 

Aunt Deborah's Lesson. (Illustrated) G. H. Baskette 694 

Autumn to Spring. Poem ' Edith M. Thomas 8S3 

Baby's Dimple, The. Poem William H. Hayne 731 

Ballad of Base-Ball, A. Verses /. D 774 

Belated Fairy, A. Picture, drawn by Mary A. Lathbury 693 

Blossom-time. Poem Laura E. Richards 5 iS 

Boat-building. (Illustrated) George J. Manson 698 

Bopeep. Poem. (Illustrated by Mary Hallock Foote) Sydney Dayre 756 

Boys' Camp, A. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) 607 

Boys' Paradise, The. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) Elizabeth Batch 604 

Brownies at Base-ball, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 943 

Brownies at Lawn Tennis, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) . Palmer Cox S57 

Brownies in the Menagerie, The. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 707 

Brownies on Roller Skates, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author). Palmer Cox 543 

Bubble Bowling. (Illustrated by the Author) Adelia B. Beard 540 

Butterfly and the Bee, The. Verse Edith M. Thomas 599 

Captain Jack's Fourth of July Kite. (Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard 702 

Caricature Plant, The. ( Illustrated by J. C. Beard) 1/. A 522 

Children of the Sun, The. Poem. (Illustrated) irthur Wentworth Eaton . . 770 

Children's Exhibition, The. (Illustrated by E. J. Meeker) Charles Barnard 916 

Child's Fancy, A. Poem Frank Dempster Sherman 645 

Considerate Farmer Jones. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes S43 

CRAFTY Crab, The. Jingle. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch) Isabel Frances Bello-ws S45 

Crew of the Captain's Gig, The. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards) Rev. Charles R. Talbot S99 

Daisy-Song. Verses Grace Denio Litchfield 662 

Dangerous Dog, The. Jingle. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch). ..-/. A'. Wells S37 

•£ Difference of Opinion, A. Verses Lilian Dynevor Rice 679 

ji Dog Stories, St. Nicholas. (Illustrated) 526, 624 

fl " Do You Like Butter, Bossy ? " Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 791 

CP Duel with a Stork, A. Pictures, drawn by Frederick J. Hibbert 754 

*"* Fishes and their Young. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard) C. F. Holder 600 


Fly-fishing for Trout. (Illustrated by T- H. Cocks, Henry Sandham, ) „.,, ,,., , , 

' - ' > Ripley Hitchcock 6i; q 

E. J. Meeker, and others) S " 

Fresh from a Dip in the Breakers. Picture, drawn by Mary Hallock } 

- , ' ' 670 

t oote ) 

Frog IN the Shoe, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by Boz) Aunt Fanny Barrow 791 

Fun in High Life. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 935 

George Washington. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden and others) Horace E. Scndder 505 

590, 663, 75S, 838, 90S 

Giraffe, The. (Illustrated) Gerrish Eldridge 76S 

Girls' Tricycle Club and its Run Down the Cape, The. (Illustrated ) „ ... ^ „. . 

v > E. 1 ntton Blake 404 

by W. A. Rogers) S 4y4 

Grandpapa Rosebush. Verses. (Illustrated) .... ... Laura E. Richards 583 

Great Spring-board Act, The. ' Picture, drawn by T. J. Nicholl ... 677 

Handiwork of Some Clever School-boys, The. (Illustrated by the Author) J. Abdon Donnegan 547 

Her Picture. Verses. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) Anna M. Pratt 942 

Highly Colored. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 869 

How Conrad Lost his School-books. (Illustrated by the Author) , . . . . . Walter Bobbett 514 

" How Doth the Little Busy Bee ? " Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 757 

Hurly-burly. Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Emma Mortimer Wliite S71 

[F. Jingle. (Illustrated) E. A. B 703 

In the Garden. Verses Bessie Chandler 898 

Inverted. Jingle. (Illustrated by W. T. Peters) John B. Tabb 828 

" It was a Fair Artist Named May." Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) . O. Herford 501 

Tapanese Babies. Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch). . . Anna C. Vincent 94S 

Jingles 501, 613, 630, 681, 6S7, 697, 703, 733, 74S, 7S5, 791, 797, S2S, S37, 845, 853, 949 

Jolly Old Knight, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) Oliver Herford 748 

Keeping the Cream of One's Reading. (Illustrated) . Margaret Meredith 537 

Kelp-gatherers, The. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) J. T. Trowbridge 584 

6S7, 776, 847, 929 

Knickerbocker Boy, The. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) . Caroline S. King 542 

Lace-leaf, A Search for the. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard) Alice May 518 

La Fayette. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Mrs. Eugenia M. Hodge .... 643 

Lake George Capsize, A. (Illustrated) Edward Egglcston 829 

Last Cruise of the " Slug," The. (Illustrated by D. Clinton Peters) .... Thomas Edwin Turner 671 

Lesson in Geography, A. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) V. B. Jordan 870 

Little Boys who Looked Alike, The. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas 92S 

Little Lord Fauntleroy. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Frances Hodgson Burnett . . . 502 

564, 646, 734, 822, S84 

Little Miss Mabel. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) Daisy Jones 613 

Little Seamstress, A. Verse Mary E. Wilkins 733 

Man Overboard ! (Illustrated by the Author) H. A. Johnson 775 

Matter-of-fact Cinderella, A. (Illustrated) Annie A. Preston S60 

May Song. Poem. (Illustrated and engrossed by Laura C. Hills) Laura E. Richards 492 

Monster, The. Verses. (Illustrated) Maria /. Hammond 732 

Morning-glories. Poem Laura Ledyard Pope 501 

Morra. (Illustrated) Susan Anna Brown S46 

Mother's Idea A. M. Piatt. , 613 

Nan's Revolt. (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis Shepherd) Rose Lattimore Ailing 682 

749, Si 6, S96 

Ned's Buttercup. Verses Bessie Chandler 941 

New Theory, A. Verse Bessie Chandler 7S5 

New View of the Moon, A. Verses Eva Lovett Carson 551 

No More School. Picture, drawn by Rose Mueller 57 1 

Notional Nightingale, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) 4. A'. Wells 74S 

Number One. Verses . . . Charles R. Talbot 705 

October. Poem. (Illustrated) Susan L/arlley Sqo 

" Oh, Where are You Going ? " Jingle. (Illustrated by E. Sylvester) 869 



Old Time Arms and Armor. (Illustrated) E. S. Brooks 936 

ONCE-ON-A-TIME. Poem Emily Huntington Miller 563 

On the Willey-brook Trestle. (Illustrated by Henry Sandham) Willis Boyd Allen 764 

Owl, the Bat, and the Bumble-bee, The. Verses. (Illustrated by ) r aura £ Richards 74- 

De Cost Smith) S 

Personally Conducted. (Illustrated by E. J. Meeker and others) Frank R. Stockton 

Queen Paris 572 

Pictures 525, 571, 637, 670, 677, 693, 701, 715, 73S, 754, 757. 791, 79S, S43, 856, 869, 935, 947 

Pussies' Coats, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by H. P. Share) Esther B. Tiffany 6S7 

Puzzled Bessie. Picture, drawn by Albert E. Sterner 947 

Puzzled Papa, A. Verses M. L. B. Brandt 603 

Quaint Little Man, A. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) A. Brennan 949 

Ready for Business ; or, Choosing an Occupation. (Illustrated) George J. Manson 

Boat-building 69S 

Recipe, A. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Mary A. Lathbu-ry . . . 629 

Regatta. A Game. (Illustrated by the Author) Frank Bellew , 7S3 

Robin's Return. Poem Edith M. Tlwmas . . , . . .612 

Rock-a-bye. Poem Mary N. Prescott 535 

Rocky Mountain Hermit, A. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard and others) 4 If red Terry Bacon 723, S32 

Rope Yarn Spun by an Old Sailor, A. (Illustrated by the Author) C. IV. Miller 7S6 

Royal Fish, A. (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard, Henry Sandham, and others) Ripley Hitchcock 739 

Sad Case, A. Verses. (Illustrated by Mary Richardson) Margaret Vandegrift 733 

Sailor Boy, The. Verses. (Illustrated) Wallace E.Mather. . 790 

Salmon: A Royal Fish. (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard, Henry Sandham, \ „. , „. , . 

and others) > 

Satchel, The. (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) Tudor Jenks 616 

Search for the Lace-leaf, A. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard) Alice May 518 

Sea-urchin, The. Jingle. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch) Isabel Frances Bellows 7S5 

Shakspere when a Boy. (Illustrated by Alfred Parsons) Rose Kingsley . 483 

Smallest Circus in the World, The. (Illustrated by J. G. Francis). . .C. F. Holder 533 

Some Curious Mariners. (Illustrated by J. C Beard and J. M. Nugent). . C. F. Holder 891 

Song of Summer, A. Poem Emma C. Dowd 671 

Spring Beauties. Poem. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) Helen Gray Cone 513 

St. Nicholas Dog Stories. (Illustrated) 

A Clever Little Yellow Dog John R. Coryell 526 

A Dog that Could Count E. P. Roe 529 

A Clever Sheep Dog 530 

A Story of Two Buckets Charlotte M. Vaile 530 

The Left-field of the Lincoln Nine C. F. Holder 624 

A Dog that Could Climb Trees C . F. Holder 626 

A Sociable, Sensible Dog • E. P. Roe 626 

A Dog whose Feelings were Hurt . E. P. Roe 628 

A Dog that Repaid a Trick 628 

Mephistopheles Anna Gardner 628 

Stories of Art and Artists. English Painters. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement . . . S03 

Tea-party, A. Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed by the Author) Margaret Johnson S65 

Tell-tale Barn, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Esther B. Tiffany 924 

" The Biggest of Birds." Jingle. (Illustrated G. R. Halm) E. E. Sterns 703 

Theoretic Turtle, The. Verses. (Illustrated) 4. R. Wells 6S1 

" This Little Pig Went to Market." Picture, drawn by Rose Mueller 701 

" This Seat Reserved." Picture S56 

Three Velvety Bees. Verses. (Illustrated by F. E. Gifford) M. M. D 654 

Timothy Timid. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) -/. Brennan . . 697 

Tippie and Jimmie. (Illustrated by H. P. Share) Mary L. French. . . 705 

TODDLEKINS AND Trot. Verses. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) 4nna M. Pratt S43 

Trout, Fly-fishing for. (Illustrated bv T. H. Cocks, Henry Sandham, > 

E. J. Meeker, and others) 5 *&» mtc, '^ k 6 55 


Under the Snow. Poem Lilian Dyncvor Rice S15 

Vegetable Clothing. (Illustrated by I ). C. Beard) C.J. Russell . 523 

Venetian Marquetry. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles G. Lelatid 866 

Waiting for a Cold Wave. Picture, drawn by C. Weaver 73S 

Weasel and the Adder, The. (Illustrated) Gerrisk Eldridge .... . 907 

What Bertie Saw in the Flowers. Poem. (Illustrated) L. G. R 536 

What it Was. Verses. (Illustrated by F. E. Gifford) Malcolm Douglas 701 

When Shakspere was a Boy. (Illustrated by Alfred Parsons) Rose Kingsley 48} 

Wild Flowers, The. Verses. (Illustrated) Jessie Penniman 603 

Wild Hunters. (Illustrated) John R. Coryell 681 

Winged Seeds. Poem Helen Gray Cone 571 

Woe to the Foreign Dolly ! Picture, drawn by R. Blum 525 

Wonders of the Alphabet. (Illustrated) Henry Eckford 538 

621,677, 77i. S54, 925 
Work and Play for Young Folk. (Illustrated.) 

A Rope Yarn Spun by an Old Sailor. (Illustrated by the Author) C. IV. Miller 786 

Venetian Marquetry. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles G. Leland 866 


For Very Little Folk. (.Illustrated.) 

Riddles M. M. D 630 

" Pretty Painted Bridges " \ 

" White Sheep, White Sheep " \ E. E. Sterns 630 

"On Dormio Hill " ) 

A Letter from a Little Boy Ralph Ranlel 710 

" Dude " and the Cats 711 

Riddles for Very Little Folk E. E. Sterns 950 

Plays and Music. 

Easter Carol . , , William E. Ashmall . ... 546 

Jack-in-the-Pulpit. (Illustrated.) 

Introduction — "Everything is Lovely, and the Goose Hangs High" — Girls! To the Rescue! — About Little 
Lord Fauntleroy — Fishing for Necklaces — A Suggestion to the Bottled Fish — The Newspaper Plant (illus- 
trated) — One More Living Barometer, 552 ; A Bumble Grumble — Pretty Dusty Wings — Trees that Rain — 
Shooting Stars — Coasting in August — More about Turtles — A Fish that Weaves its Nest — A Clever Hum- 
ming-bird (illustrated), 632; Introduction — The Seventeen-year Locust (illustrated) — The Great Lubber 
Locust (illustrated) — The Dog and the Queer Grasshoppers (illustrated), 712; Introduction — Longfellow's 
First Letter — The Water-snake as a Fisherman — More Animal Weather-Prophets — A Useful Bird with 
an Aristocratic Name — A Wise Humming-bird — The Pitcher Plant (illustrated), 792 ; Introduction — Poor 
Lark! — Those Mocking-birds Again — A Living Island (illustrated) — Wrong Names for Things — Who can 
Answer This ? 872 ; Introduction — A Perfectly Quiet Day — How He Proved It — Walking Without Legs — 
A Queer Sunshade (illustrated) — A Queer Jumble — That Dear Little Lord, 952. 

The Agassiz Association. (Illustrated) 557, 636, 717, 794, 874, 957 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 554, 634, 714, 796, S76, 954 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 559, 639, 719, 799, 879, 959 

Editorial Notes 554, 634 


"In Spring-time — When Shakspere was a Boy," by Leon Moran, facing Title-page of Volume — "A June 
Morning," by E. C. Held, facing page 563 — " La Fayette and the British Ambassador," by F. H. Lungren, 
facing page 643 — "The Captain and the Captain's Mate," by Mary Hallock Foote, facing page 723 — "The 
Connoisseurs," after a painting by Sir Edwin Landseer, facing page S03 — "Martha Washington," from an 
unfinished portrait by Gilbert Stuart, facing page 883. 

(see i-age 450.) 


Vol. XIII. 

MAY, 1886. 

No. 7. 

[Copyright, 18S6, by The CENTURY CO.] 


town, there stands 
an old half-timbered 
house. The panels be- 
tween the dark beams 
are of soft-colored yel- 
low plaster. The win- 
dows are filled with little diamond 
panes ; and in one of the upper 
rooms they are guarded with fine wire outside the 
old glass, which is misty with innumerable names 
scratched all over it. Poets and princes, wise men 
and foolish, have scrawled their names after a 
silly fashion, on windows, wall, and ceiling of that 
oak-floored room, because, on the 22d of April, 
1564, a baby was born there — the son of John 
and Mary Shakspere. And on the following 
Wednesday, April 26, the baby was carried down 
to the old church beside the sleepy Avon and 
baptized by the name of William. 

Little did John Shakspere and the gossips 

dream, when the baby Will- 
iam's name was duly inscribed in the 
register-book with its corners and clasps 
of embossed brass, that he was destined to be- 
come England's greatest poet. Little did they 
dream, honest folk, that the old market town and 
the house on Henley street and the meadows 
across the river, covered in that pleasant April 
month with cowslips and daisies and "lady-smocks 
all silver-white," would become sacred ground to 
hundreds of thousands of people from all quarters 
of the globe, who should come, year by year, on 
reverent pilgrimage to Shakspere's birthplace. 

The baby grew up as most babies do ; and when 
he was two and a half years old, a little brother 
Gilbert was born. As we walk through the streets 
to-day, we can fancy the little lads toddling about 
the town together, while father John was mind- 
ing his glove and wool trade at the old house. 
John Shakspere, in those early days, was a well- 
to-do man. He was a chamberlain of the borough 
when little Gilbert was born ; and in 156S he was 




elected High Bailiff, or Mayor, of Stratford, 
although he, in common with many of his fellow- 
burgesses, could not write his own name. He had 
land, too, at Snitterfield, where his father had 
lived ; and his wife, Mary Arden, was the owner 
of Ashbies, the farm at Wilmcote, hard by. 

Guild Chapel next door. And this was surely in 
the poet's mind when, in later years, he talked of a 
" pedant who keeps a school i' the church." 

All boys learned their Latin then from two well- 
known books — the "Accidence " and the " Senten- 
tial Pueriles. " And that William was no exception to 


But, though the parents were illiterate, they 
knew the value of a good education. The Free 
Grammar School had been refounded a few years 
before by Edward VI. And although there is no 
actual record of his school days, we may take it 
as certain that little Will Shakspere was sent to 
the Free School when about seven years old, as we 
know his brother Gilbert was, a little later. The 
old Grammar School still stands ; and boys still learn 
their lessons in the self-same room with the high 
pitched roof and oaken beams, where little Will 
Shakspere studied his " A, B, C-book," and got 
his earliest notions of Latin. But during part of 
Shakspere's school days the schoolroom was 
under repair; and boys and master — Walter 
Roche by name — migrated for a while to the 

the rule we may see by translations from the latter 
in several of his plays, and by an account, in one 
of his plays, of Master Page's examination in the 
" Accidence." An old desk which came from the 
Grammar School and stood there in Shakspere's 
time is shown at the birthplace. And when we 
look at it we wonder what sort of a boy little 
William was — whether his future greatness made 
a mark in any way during his school days; 
whether that conical forehead of his stood him 
in good stead as he learned his Latin Gram- 
mar ; whether he was quiet and studious, or 
merry and mischievous ; whether he hid dormice 
and apples and birds' eggs in his desk, and peeped 
at them during school hours : whether he got 
into scrapes and was whipped. Just think of 


4 8; 

Shakspere getting a whipping ! No doubt he often 
did. Masters in those days were not greater, but 
rather less, respecters of persons than they are now, 
and they believed very firmly in the adage which is 
goingoutof fashion, thatto spare the rod is to spoil 
the child. So we may think of little Will Shak- 
spere coming out of the Grammar School and pass- 
ing the old Guild Chapel and the Falcon Inn with 
two little red fists crammed into two little red and 
streaming eyes, and going home to mother Mary 

things as only a country-bred boy can know about 
them. He and Gilbert must have run many a time 
to Ashbies, their mother's farm at Wilmcote, and 
watched the oxen plowing in the heavy clay fields ; 
and cried, perhaps, as children do now " as the 
butcher takes away the calf " ; and played with the 
shepherd's " bob-tailed cur"; and gossiped with 
Christopher Sly, who could tell them all manner 
of wonderful tales, for had he not been peddler, 
card-maker, bear-herd, "and now by present pro- 


in Henley street to be comforted and coddled and 
popped down on the settle in the wide chimney 
corner, with some dainty, dear to the heart of small 
boys who got into trouble three hundred years ago 
just as they do now. Let us hope his cake was not 
like one he describes as "dough on both sides." 

But I fancy that lessons bore a very small part in 
Will Shakspere's education. He certainly never 
knew much Latin ; but he knew all about countrv 

must have 
Henry up 

listened to their father and their uncle 
at the big farm close to Snitterfield 
(where Henry Shakspere lived) as the 
men discussed the price of a yoke of oxen 
at Stratford or Warwick fair, or debated whether 
they should " sow the head-land with wheat, — 




with red wheat, Davy,"* or grumbled over the 
" smith's note for shoeing and plough-irons," 
or told the latest turn in the quarrel between 
"William Visor of Woncot " and "Clement 
Perkes of the Hill." Very likely the little hazel- 
eyed boys took William Visor's part, though they 


the liberty of speech they enjoy in these degenerate 
times. William Visor was a neighbor of the Ardens, 
and possibly a friend of "Marian Hackett, the fat 
ale-wife of Wincot"; for Wincot, Woncot, and 
Wilmcote are all the same place. Or perhaps 
the young lads sided with Clement Perkes : for 

*2d He 

IV., Act 5, Scene i 

the Hill where he lived at Weston was known as 
Cherry Orchard Farm, a name full of tempting sug- 
gestions to little boys. And we know that Shak- 
spere, like many less wise people, was fond of 
"ripe red cherries." He mentions them again 
and again. He and Gilbert, and their little friends 
the Sadlers and Harts and 
Halls, must have played bob- 
cherry, as we do now, — draw- 
ing up the stem of the cherry 
with our tongues, and, with 
a sudden snap, getting the 
round, ripe fruit between our 
lips, — and then have used the 
stones for "cherry-pit" — a 
child's game that is frequently 
mentioned by Shakspere and 
other old writers, which con- 
sisted in pitching cherry- 
stones into a small hole. 

Stratford lies just at the 
beginning of the fruit-growing 
country, which stretches right 
down the Vale of Evesham to 
Worcester and the Severn ; 
and little Will Shakspere was 
well versed in the merits of all 
kinds of fruits. There were 
the plum-trees, that make you 
think in the spring-time that 
a snow-shower has fallen upon 
a sunny day all over the Strat- 
ford district ; while in the au- 
tumn the branches are laden 
with " the mellow plum." 
Who can doubt that little Will climbed the dam- 
son-tree, " with danger of my life," as he said later 
that Simpcox did at his wife's. bidding?! In the 
plays he mentions apples of many sorts — some of 
which, though rare or extinct in other parts of 
England, still grow about his native place — the 
bitter-sweetings and leather-coats, the apple-johns 
and the pomewaters. Many a time he must have 
stood with all the boys of the place watching, as 
we might do to-day, the cider-making on some 
village green, when the heaps of apples, red, green, 
and yellow, are brought in barrows and baskets 
and carts from the orchards, and ground up into 
a thick yellow pulp in the crushing-mill turned 
by a horse, and that pulp is put into presses from 
which the clear juice runs into tubs, while the dry 
cakes of pulp are carted away to fatten the pigs. 

There were grapes, too, growing plentifully in 
Warwickshire in his day; and "apricocks," "ripe 
figs, and mulberries," like those with which the 
fairies were told to feed Bottom the weaver. Black- 
berries and the handsome purple dewberries grew 

I 2d Henry VI., Act 2, Scene 1. 



then as now, by the hedges in the orchards and 
in the shade of the Weir-brake just below Stratford 
mill, where, so says tradition, the scene of the 
"Midsummer Night's Dream" was laid. In the 
Weir-brake, too, and in all the woods about their 
home, the Shakspere boys must have gone 
nutting — that most delightful harvest of the year, 

"roasted crabs" for her gossips. Will, I warrant, 
as with twinkling eyes he watched Mrs. Hart or 
Mrs. Sadler or Mrs. Hathaway, from Shottery, 
thought that it was Puck himself, the very spirit 
of mischief, who had got into the bowl " in very 
likeness of a roasted crab." 

It must have been a recollection of those winter 


when you bend down "the hazel twig," so "straight 
and slender," and fill baskets and pockets with the 
sweet nuts in their rough, green husks, and crack 
them all the way home like so many happy squirrels. 

All the hedge-rows were full then, as they are 
to this day, of wild pear-trees, wild apples, and 
" crabs," as crab-apples are called in England. 
Roasted " crabs " served with hot ale were 
a favorite Christmas dish in Shaksperc's time. 
And I doubt not that the boys rejoiced at the 
house in Henley street as the time of year came 
round " when roasted crabs hiss in the bowl." 

How snu g the " house-place " in the old home must 
have looked with its roaring fire of logs, on winter 
evenings, when the two little boys of nine and 
seven, and Joan and Anne, the little sisters, hud- 
dled up in the chimney-corner with baby Richard 
in his cradle, while the mother prepared hot ale and 

later years, 

evenings that made little Will, in 
write his delightful " Winter Song": 

" When icicles hang by the wall 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail 
And Tom bears logs into the hall 

And milk comes frozen home in pail, 
When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

Tu-whit ; 
Tu-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the poL 

" When all aloud the wind doth blow 

And coughing drowns the parson's saw 
And birds sit brooding in the snow 

And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

Tu-whit ; 
Tu-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot." 

Among the gossips there would be much talk 
of wonders, appearances, mysterious occurrences, 




and charms; and the 
all their ears, you may 
Mistress Shakspere's 
power that some 
still are said 
away warts 
mured invo- 
and pains, 
people now 
ond cup of 
take the cup, 
around three 
downward in 
looking at 
to the bot- 

children listened with 

be sure. Perhaps one of 

friends possessed the 

people in Warwickshire 

to possess, of charming 

by a touch and some mur- 

cation ; or curing 

and all other aches 


There are plenty of 
who, after your sec- 
tea is finished, will 
twist the grounds 
times, turn it mouth 
the saucer, and then, by 
the tea-leaves which still stick 
torn of the cup, will undertake 
to tell you what is going to 
happen — of presents you will re- 
ceive, or people who are com- 
ing to see you. And many 
~~ women still be- 
ve firmly that whoop- 
ing-cough can be 
charmed away 
by the patient 
walking nine 
times over 
The boys' 
james of 
those days 
were much 
the same 
as they 

are to-day. Each game then, as now, had its 
regular season . in the year. In the season for 
marbles, no one would dream of playing any- 
thing else. "Knuckle-hole" is still the favorite 
game in Warwickshire. The standing-up game, 
pitching the taw from a mark scraped across the 
ground, is, I am told by competent authorities, 
rather going out of fashion ; but it is still played. 
The marble season lasts through the late winter, 
much to the distraction of mothers, who have to 
clean and mend their sons' nether garments, which 
are worn with kneeling and plastered with mud at 
that time of year. Then comes the spinning-top, 
whip-top, and peg-top time. Later again there is 
tip-cat for the boys, and hop-scotch for the 

On the corn-bins in the Warwickshire ale-house 
stables we can still find the lines rudely cut for 
" nine men's morris." This, in Shakspere's day, 
was a favorite game, and one much in vogue 
among the shepherd boys in the summer, who cut 
a "board" in the short turf and whiled away the long 
hours by playing it. Little Will must often have 
gone to watch his father play " shovel-board " at 
the Falcon tavern, in Stratford, on the board upon 
which tradition says he himself played, in later 
life. And at home, he and his brother must have 
played " push-pin," an old game which is still 
played in remote parts of the country. Two pins 
are laid on the table ; the players in turn jerk them 
with their fingers, and he who throws one pin 
across the other is allowed to take one of them, 
while those who do not succeed have to give a pin. 
This is the game Shakspere alludes to in " Love's 
Labour 's Lost," when -he says, " And Nestor 
play at push-pin with the boys." 

Little Will knew a great deal about sport. All his 
allusions to sporting or woodcraft are those of a 
man who had been familiar with such things 
from his childhood. He and Gilbert must 
have set plenty of 
catch wood- 
dug out 
delving r 
swarme d 
monland of 

"the hedge-rows were full, as they are to TH1 


to this day, in the slow waters of the Avon, sitting quietly intent for hours upon tin 

' springes, to 
cocks," and 
the ' ' earth- 
conies" that 
in the com- 
those din- 
gles that in 
later years he 
fought so hard 
to preserve from 

They must 
have fished many 
a time, as the 
Stratford boys do 
steep clay bank 






" to sec the fish 
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, 
And greedily devour the treacherous bait."" 

Then who can doubt that he often watched the 
hunting of the hare ? Each line in his wonderful 
description of the hunted hare is written by a 
thorough sportsman and a keen observer of nature. 
How the purblind hare runs among a flock of 
sheep or into a rabbit-warren, or " sorteth with a 
herd of deer" to throw out " the hot scent-snuff- 

* " Much Ado about 

ing hounds." How they pause silent till they 
have worked "with much ado the cold fault 
cleanly out," and then burst into music again. 

Of deer, Shakspere knew much — too much 
for his own comfort. In his childhood, there were 
herds at Fulbrooke, — and when he was older, at 
Charlecote, at Grove Park, and at Warwick. And 
probably there were a few roe in the wilder parts 
of the Forest of Arden, which came down within 
three miles of Stratford, and covered the whole of 

Nothing," Act 3, Sc. 1. 




the country north of the Avon, out to Nuneaton 
and Birmingham. We can fancy how the boys 
stole out to watch the Grevilles and Leycesters 
and Lucys and Verneys on some great hunting 
party, and whispered to each other, 

" Under this thick-grown brake we '11 shroud ourselves, 
For through this lawnd anon the deer will come." 

But the time of all 'others in the 
year that we connect most closely 
with Shakspere is the sweet spring- 
time, when the long cold winter — 
very long and very cold among those 
undrained clay-lands of Warwick- 
shire — had come to an end. How 
closely little Will watched for 

" daffodils, 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty"; 

and for 

" violets, cowslips, and pale primroses." 

We can fancy the little boys hunt- 
ing in some sheltered nook in the 
Welcombc woods for the first prim- 
roses ; and climbing up Borden Hill 
just beyond Shottery, perhaps with 
Anne Hathaway from the pretty old 
house in the orchards below, to the 
bank — the only one in the neighbor- 
hood, — 

" where the wild thyme blows, 
Where oxlips, and the nodding violet grows"; 

or wandering over the flat sunny 
meadows along the Avon valley, 
picking cowslips, and looking into 
each tiny yellow bell for the spots 
in their gold coats, — 

" Those be rubies, fairy favors, 

In those freckles live their savors," — 

as they brought home baskets of 
the flower-heads for their mother to 
make into cowslip wine. 

Spring, in this Stratford country, 
is exquisite. The woods are car- 
peted with primroses and wild hya- 
cinths ; while in the "merry month 
of May" the nightingale swarms among the haw- 
thorn trees white with blossom. 

On every village green there stood a painted 
May pole — one is still standing at Weston, near 
Stratford ; and May-Day is still kept in Warwick- 
shire with a '• May feast" upon old May-Day, the 
12th of May. Every one knows how the prettiest 
girl in the village was chosen Queen o' the May, and 
how all joined in the "Whitsun Morris-dance." 

Long Marston, — "Dancing Marston," as it has 
been called ever since Shakspere's time, — a few 
miles from Stratford, was famous till within the 
memory of man for a troop of Morris-dancers, 
who went about from village to village, strangely 
dressed, to dance at all the feasts. Shakspere 
probably had the Marston dancers in his mind when 
he wrote of the " three carters, three shepherds, 


three neat-herds, three swine-herds," that made 
themselves all "menofhair,"and called themselves 
"Saltiers," at the sheep-shearing feast which 
pretty Perdita presided over, in "The Winter's 
Tale." The sheep-shearing feast, which came 
when roses were out on the hedges and in the 
gardens, must have been a merry and important 
time for the Shakspere boys. John Shakspere 
was, of course, specially interested in the price of a 



tod of wool, for wool-stapling was part of his trade. 
Perhaps William himself was sent by his mother 
to buy the groceries for the feast, and stood con- 
ning the list as he makes the clown do, in "The 
Winter's Tale." 

In the spring-time, too, came the peddler with 
all his wonders and treasures : 

" Lawn as white as driven snow ; 
Cypress black as e'er was crow ; 
Gloves as sweet as damask roses ; 
Masks for laces and for noses." 

Those last must have pleased the little boys 
more than all the rest of the peddler's goods. And 
perhaps it was from this very peddler that Will 
Shakspere bought the pair of gloves which, 
after the fashion of the day, he gave to Anne 
Hathaway at their betrothal. 

But the great event of the year in the quiet 
country town was Stratford "Mop" or statute 
fair, on the 12th of October. The market-place 
was filled, as it is to this day, with clowns and 
mountebanks, wrestlers, and rope-dancers at their 
"rope-tricks." Oxen and sheep were roasted whole. 
A roaring trade was driven by quack doctors and 
dentists. All the servants in the country came and 
stood around to be hired, as the farm-hands and 
the maids for the farm-houses still do — the car- 
ters with a bit of whipcord in their hats ; the 
shepherds with a lock of wool ; the laborers with 
a straw. And next day, we need not doubt, there 
were many candidates for the town stocks, as there 
are now for the police court. There were bear- 
baitings, too, and bull-baitings — those cruel sports 
which have only been abolished in Warwickshire 
within the last hundred years. But in Shakspere's 
day bear-baiting was a popular and refined amuse- 
ment. During Queen Elizabeth's visit to Kenil- 
worth, in 1575, there was a great bear-baiting in 
her honor, of which a curious and most sickening 
account still exists. And when Shakspere went 
to London his lodgings were close to the bear-gar- 
den, or "Bear's College," at Southwark, whither 
all London flocked to see the poor beasts tormented 
and tortured. 

There was, however, one amusement which, , 
from his earliest years, must have delighted little 
Will Shakspere above all others — I mean a 
visit from the players. That he inherited his 
love for the drama from his father is more than 
probable; for it was during the year of John 
Shakspere's High Bailiffship that plays are first 
mentioned in the records at Stratford. According 
to the custom of the day, when the players be- 
longing to some great nobleman came to a town, 
they reported themselves to the mayor to get a 

license for playing. If the mayor liked them, or 
wished to show respect to their master, he would 
appoint them to play their first play before himself 
and the Council. This was called the Mayor's 
Play, every one coming in free, and the mayor 
giving the players a reward in money. Between 
the autumns of 1568 and 1569, 

'"The Queen's and the Earl of Worcester's players visited the town 
and gave representations before the Council, the former company 
receiving nine shillings and the latter twelve pence for their first 

And there is little reason to doubt that our little 
Will, then between five and six years old, was 
taken to see them by his father, the mayor, as a 
little boy named Willis was taken at Gloucester 
that same year, being exactly William Shak- 
spere's age ; and, standing between his father's 
knees, Master Will probably there got his first ex- 
perience of the art in which he was to become the 
master for all ages. We wonder what that first 
play was — some quaint, rude drama probably, 
such as the one little Willis saw at Gloucester, with 
plenty of princes and fair ladies, and demons with 
painted masks, and the " Herod" in red gloves, 
of the "Coventry Mystery " players. 

Not only in Stratford, but in most of the towns 
roundabout, there are various records of players 
giving performances. When little Will was eleven 
years old, Queen Elizabeth came on her celebrated 
visit, in 1575, to Lord Leycester at Kenil worth; 
and as all the country flocked to see the great 
show, it is probable that the boy and his father 
were among the crowds of spectators and saw 
some of the plays given in the Queen's honor. 

A year or two later, troubles began to multiply 
at the house in Henley street. John Shakspere 
got into debt. The farm at Ashbies was mortgaged. 
His daughter Anne died in 1579; and two years 
before her death, young William, then thirteen, 
was taken from school and apprenticed — some 
accounts say to a butcher — or, as seems more 
probable, to his own father, to help him in his 
failing wool-trade. 

For the next five years nothing is known about 
Will Shakspere. Then we find him courting 
Anne Hathaway in the pretty old brick and tim- 
bered cottage at Shottery, its garden all full of 
roses and rosemary, " carnations and striped gilly- 
vors." A year or two later, he is stealing one 
of Sir Thomas Lucy's deer, — writing a lampoon 
on the worthy justice, — and flying to London 
from his wrath, to hold horses at the door of the 
Globe Theater before he joined the Lord Cham- 
berlain's players, and became known to all poster- 
ity as Mr. William Shakspere, Writer of Plays. 



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By E. Vinton Blake. 

Tricycles had become an every-day affair in 
Sherridoc, and since the formation of the Girls' 
Club, lady tricyclers were not an extraordinary 
sight. So Charlotte, or " Charley " Van Rensse- 
laer, as she was called, and her brother Starrett ex- 
cited but little comment as they wheeled swiftly 
down Haymarket street, moving noiselessly and eas- 
ily through the throng of carriages and other vehi- 
cles, until, as the houses grew less frequent and the 
pavements stopped altogether, they rolled through 
the suburbs of the town and so into the open 
country, without stay or pause. 

For they were making time. The club itself, 
thanks to the failure of the express company to 
deliver Charley's new " Columbia" when promised, 
had several hours' start on the road ; and Starrett, 
like the obliging brother that he was, had remained 
behind in order that Charlotte need not ride alone 
nor the club be longer delayed by waiting for her. 

Charley Van Rensselaer, her cousin Cornelia, or 
" Corny" Hadwin, and their warm friends Mattie 
Hyde and Arno Cummings, were four bright and 
active young girls of from thirteen to sixteen, who 
composed the Girls' Tricycle Club. Little by little 
they had won first the interest and then the con- 
sent of their somewhat conservative parents to this 
novel but exhilarating exercise, and having now 
become expert riders, they were off for a long run 
of eighty miles down Cape Cod from Sherridoc 
City to Curtin Harbor, where their parents had 
summer cottages. Faithful and clever Joe Mars- 
ton, Mr. Van Rensselaer's colored servant, and an 
expert tricycler, had gone ahead with the club as 
guide and commissary-general, and Starrett Van 
Rensselaer, Charley's younger brother, was in- 
vited to accompany them as an escort, on the 
odd-looking "Royal Mail" he had borrowed for 
the trip, — bicycles not being allowed. 

And now the door-yards broaden out and the 
houses become still more rambling. There are 
wide-spreading orchard boughs, and cool woody 
spaces here and there between the farms. Now a 
youngster scampers into the house shrieking, "Ma, 
Ma ! Oh, come here, Ma ! Here 's a girl a-ridin' 
three wheels at once ! " and Charley, looking 
back, perceives the urchin's sisters and cousins 
and aunts peering at her from the door. Starrett 
too looks back, and laughs. 

" You '11 have to get used to that," he says. 

" I expect to," responds Charley serenely ; "but 

you must remember that four of these things have 
gone on before us on this same road and they must 
have taken off a little of the novelty." 

Over the brow of Haymarket Hill they go, and 
the long steep sweep into the valley of the Owas- 
see lies before them. Charley, with her feet on 
the "rest," commences to descend. An amazed 
cow grazing by the roadside makes a charge on 
the singular vehicle,_ but the girl never flinches, 
and with one hand on the steering-bar and the 
other on the brake she avoids every stone, every 
rut, every gully in the road. The irate cow, after 
nearly plunging on its nose down the first steep 
incline, pauses to recover its senses and then re- 
turns slowly up the hill. Starrett waves it a 
laughing adieu. " Sensible bovine that," he says; 
" she knows that a stern chase is a long chase." 

"My, though!" exclaims delighted Charley, 
" we 're just flying, Starrett ! Are n't we ? " 

They are indeed. The bushes whiz past, — the 
wind sweeps their faces, — trees, stones, fences flit 
by like phantoms. Charley feels like a bird on the 
wing. Such exhilaration is there in a good tricy- 
cle " coast " downhill ! 

But it is not all such pleasure ; for, a few miles 
farther on, they become acquainted with the other 
side of the story, as they go toiling up the long 
ascent of Comstock Hill, a sandy and winding in- 
cline that leads to the highlands of Fisherville. 

" If it were n't for the sand," said Charley as she 
pushes her tricycle before her, "1 would test the 
new ' power-gear ' on my ' Columbia ' by riding up 
Comstock Hill. But, dear me, I believe there are 
not three yards of solid earth on this road ! " 

"Never mind, we're more than half-way up," 
said Starrett, consolingly. 

" Do you suppose it 's sandy like this near Cur- 
tin Harbor?" inquired Charley. 

" I have n't the least idea," Starrett replied. 
" If it is, we can branch off and take the cars at 
Minot Station." 

"The cars? Why, Starrett Van Rensselaer!" 
exclaims Charley. "Why, 1 would n't take the 
cars — not for anything — unless — well, unless I 
were fairly driven to it." 

And now they both draw a long breath, for the 
crest of Comstock Hill is won. 

" Look behind you, Starrett," says Charley. 
" Did you ever see a prettier picture ? " 

Starrett acknowledges he never did. The low- 



lyingvalleyis greenandfair. The Owassee stretches 
like a silver ribbon across the picture, and there is 
not a human being in sight save these two tricy- 
clers who take all this summer beauty into their 
impressible young hearts. 

On they go, through Fisherville and into the 
open country again. Truly no grass grows under- 
neath those flashing wheels. The new " Colum- 
bia " has the oil well worked in by this time, and 
the " Royal Mail," with its queer one-sided 
"steerer," seems undisturbed by any ordinary 
roads. The freshening wind is behind them ; the 
blue sky, cloud-flecked, above ; and all around, 
bird-song and the rustle of blowing grass and 
bending boughs. 

"This is grand, Charley!" cries Starrett ; "so 
much better than horseback riding — and I Ve tried 

" You don't tire yourself much more, and 
you 're sure your horse won't run away with you," 
Charley assents, whizzing along beside him. "I 
feel strong enough for a good long run yet, and we 
ought to catch up with them easily, before long." 

The winding, woody road brings them sud- 
denly to a hill-top. To the right, below, lies a wide 
expanse of velvety marsh meadow, with its vivid 
and variegated tints of green, olive, and reddish- 
brown, and occasional intersections of tottering, 
moss-grown fence ; there is a starry glimmer as 
of lilies in the frequent pools that give back the 
glory of the sun. To the left are seen the dark, still 
reaches of a lake that winds in and out in the cool 
shadow of high woody banks. An old ice-house 
stands lonesome and gray on its margin. 

The brother and sister halt on the brow of 
the hill, to enjoy a view that may be one of the 
memories of a lifetime ; then the wheels roll slowly 
toward the descent. The slope is steep and wind- 
ing ; they do not " coast " with feet on the rest 
above the steering-wheel. It is not desirable to 
capsize or collide with any up-coming vehicle. So 
they glide warily on, with hands on the brakes, 
until the bottom is reached. But here a crazy 
guide-post at a fork in the road misleads them by 
pointing in the wrong direction for the Wareham 
road. But by great good luck, theystrike a shady 
wood track, full two miles long, which cuts off 
five miles from the road they should have trav- 
eled, and which, so Starrett says when he recog- 
nizes it, will bring them just so much nearer the 
club. Dismounting at last, a pine-covered knoll, 
with a brook bubbling below, attracts them; and, 
seated on the brown pine-needles, the brother 
and sister talk over their adventures, and wonder 
how far ahead the others may be. Suddenly 
Starrett, who faces the road, drops his hands to his 
side with an exclamation of surprise. 

"What now?" says Charley, looking quickly 
around. A glance makes her a partner in Star- 
rett's astonishment ; for, over the main road they 
have just now regained, come one, two, three, four 
tricycles, their glittering spokes flashing in the sun. 
They see Joe Marston's dusky face and stalwart 
figure, and behind him they catch the flutter of 
garnet and blue — the colors of the club. Occa- 
sionally a head in the procession turns to look 
expectantly behind. 

Starrett and Charley keep close in the shade of 
the pines, restraining a laugh with difficulty. 

" Here is a good place to stop, Joe," cries Cor- 
nelia Hadwin. '" It 's cool and shady, and we can 
see the road. I think they should have caught up 
with us by this time. Can anything have hap- 
pened, — do you suppose?" 

" Dunno, miss," answers Joe with a grave 
face. But as he dismounts to wheel his machine 
up the knoll, he stops short with a sudden 
smoothing out of all the perplexed lines from his 
dark brow. " Hi, dar ! " he exclaims. " Look-a 
yer, Miss Corney !" 

Cornelia does look, and so do all the rest. There 
is a perfect chorus of shrieks and laughter, a babel 
of voices, a torrent of questions. 

" Oh, we travel, I assure you!" says Starrett. 
" We took a flying leap and came in ahead of 

" How did it happen ? When did you pass us ? " 
These and countless other questions follow. Then 
all is explained, and at five o'clock the merry six 
are on the road again, rolling along in lively style. 

So, in single file, with Joe in advance, and 
Starrett bringing up the rear, the club rides 
through the main street of Wareham, down the 
long slant to the bridge over the Wareham river. 
The evening mist hangs low along the stream ; the 
bridge seems to stretch across the rushing tide and 
end abruptly in mid-air. The soft, grayish opaque 
cloud hides the farther shore from sight. 

There are heads at doors and windows, and 
people on the street stop to gaze. At first the girls 
feel a little abashed at so much attention. But 
nobody is discourteous ; Joe rides steadily on, and 
there is nothing to do but to follow. 

"I suppose we do look queer to them," says 
Mattie Hyde. 

"Oh, well, you are missionaries, you know," 
says Starrett assuringly. "Perhaps your club may 
be the means of introducing tricycles into many of 
the places we shall pass through." 

" That 's one of our objects, of course," observes 

"If girls and women knew what comfort one can 
take with a tricycle, half the battle would be won," 
says Arno Cummings timidly. 






"It is n't altogether that, Arno," says Charley, 
who, as the originator of the club, has her ad- 
vanced theories to support. " A good many would 
like to, but don't really dare. You know that 
Shakspere says ' Conscience doth make cowards 
of us all.' I think that custom makes us cowards, 

" Custom will be on our side, though, by and 
by," declares Mattie Hyde. " Doctor Sawyer 
told Mamma the other day that he would pre- 
scribe the tricycle rather than medicine for many 
of his patients. He said that the machines are 
much used in England, and that they are gaining 
ground in this country, though not so rapidly as 
he could wish." 

But even this knowledge of the healthfulness and 
desirability of the tricycle does not make a hard 
piece of road any easier. After a night's rest at 
the hospitable house of an aunt of Mattie Hyde's, 
the club find themselves, next day, among the 
"Sandwiches," as Starrett facetiously dubs the 
town of that name which is divided into North, 
East, South, and West Sandwich. And there they 
come upon a wooded tract that sorely taxes their 
endurance and presents the most formidable ob- 
stacle they have yet encountered. The sand is 

impassable ; it closes completely over the wheel- 
tires, and, after a short space of arduous labor, the 
club come to a dismayed standstill. 

" What on earth are we to do?" queries. Corny 
Hadwin in despair. 

No one answers her. The boughs wave 
softly overhead ; the small cloud of dust their 
efforts have raised floats slowly away and settles 
on the scant herbage underneath the pines. Near 
at hand sounds the shriek of the "up" train. 
They are not far from the railroad. 

"Shall we give it up and take to the train?" 
Starrett asks, as they catch the sound of the 

"Dear me, we must n't do that!" exclaims 
Charley. " Let 's dismount and push the machines 
a little way. Perhaps the wheeling is better just 

But it is not. The ruts are strewn with straw, 
shavings, and chips ; everything indicates that the 
woods are extensive, and that others before them 
have found the sand a tribulation. 

" Oh, this is the worst of all ! " groans Corny. 

" But we '11 not give up, nevertheless," declares 
little Arno Cummings, developing unexpected grit 
in the emergency. " I should n't like to tell them 



at Curtin Harbor that we had to take to the cars 
to get around a difficulty." 

Joe mops the perspiration from his dusky 
brow, and then stops to listen. A creak, a 
rumble, and a tramp, tramp are heard behind 
them. " Dar 's sumfin a-comin' ! " says Joe. 

The "sumfin" soon appears in sight, — a big, 
empty, four-horse wagon, making its unwieldy 
way in their direction. The same idea occurs to 
everybody at once. 

" There ! He '11 carry us ! " 

Carry them! Of course he will — for a con- 
sideration. And almost before the driver has 

in due time, the young folk have bidden him good 
day, and are speeding on toward Barnstable. The 
air grows salty, strong, and bracing. 

" It 's like a breath of new life," says Starrett; 
and soon they are rolling between the long row of 
grand old trees that line Barnstable's quiet main 
street. At the hotel they stop for dinner and a 
noonday rest. 

It is four in the afternoon when they remount. 
The lady boarders, who have taken quite an interest 
in the young tricyclers, bid them farewell with all 
manner of good wishes, and one gray-haired 
society lady remarks, "Those girls are sensible; 

I .1 


#"■• it? 


recovered from his evident astonishment at this 
vision of six tricycles in the heart of the Sandwich 
woods, the riders and their machines are safely in 
the big cart, and on their way through the sandy 
tract, which, they now learn, is several miles in 

It is impossible for the horses to go faster than a 
walk for the whole distance. The sand is a con- 
stant clog, and scarcely a breath of air can pene- 
trate the close piny ranks on either side the narrow 
road. It is a slow and somewhat crowded ride, 
but the club tells stories, sings and jokes and 
answers the curious inquiries of their teamster, to 
P'jom a tricycle is a thing unknown till now. But 

Vol. XIII.— 32. 

and their mothers are sensible too. Give young 
people the delights of nature and the freedom of 
outdoor sports, and keep them from late parties, 
and the whirl of folly and fashion. I 've seen too 
many young lives warped and twisted and weak- 
ened in the endeavor to ' keep up ' in fashionable 
society. Yes, those girls are sensible." 

And, wheeling still, by hill and dale, the " sensi- 
ble" girls and their escort roll merrily into old 
Yarmouth, with its broad, shady streets and big, 
substantial, old-fashioned houses. Quaint and pic- 
turesque indeed it is, with quiet nooks and corners, 
breezy streets, time-stained wharves where lie bat- 
tered fishing craft and the smarter boats devoted to 

49 3 



the summer visitors who have found out the beauties 
of the town. Here, too, Arno Cummings has an 
uncle, a bluff and breezy old sea-captain, who gives 
the whole party a hearty welcome ; and at his 
house, the club spend two nights and the day be- 
tween — a day of shade and shine, with the sea 
wind blowing everywhere. They explore the old 
town from end to end. They come continually 
upon pictures, — now a broad grassy lane with its 
moss-grown fences flanked by rising pastures of 
brownish grass ; now a long slope ending in a 
rocky outlook over the blue sea ; now a brown cot- 
tage nestled in among trees and hills. And on 
the second morning after their arrival, they bid 
the hospitable Captain Cummings adieu, and pass, 
single file, over the great drawbridge across the 
inlet that cuts Yarmouth in two, and so spin along 
through the succession of little towns which, leav- 
ing Yarmouth, almost join together into one. 
Such are the '' Dennises " — divided as usual into 
North, East, South and West, — and the " Har- 
wiches," where at Harwich proper the tricyclers 
bid farewell to the railroad which has kept them 
company at short intervals all the way down. 

"Six miles to Curtin Harbor." So says the 
lazy youth at a cross roads store, and away they 
spin, while the spires and houses of Harwich disap- 
pear behind the trees. 

And now how the wind blows ! And all around 
the horizon the sky has that watery appearance 
that betokens the nearness of the sea. There is 
a peculiar, bracing freedom in the wild, salt wind ; 
the very sway of the brown grass, the swing of 
the odorous wild pinks that nod in the corners of 
old mossy fences have a life and freshness that 
one misses greatly in tamer, more settled districts. 
For now they are plunging bravely into the long 
stretch of sand barrens and pine woods that, with 
only an occasional house, stretch for many a mile 
between Harwich and Curtin Harbor. 

But here, in the afternoon, a sudden shower 
overtakes them. They can ho longer pick their 
dainty way by the roadside, but must keep the 
middle track or run the risk of upsetting. There 
is scarce a quarter of a mile of level ground to be 
found. The pine woods close in upon them, and 
when at the summit of a hill they anxiously look 
for some other shelter than the thronging pines, 
they can see nothing but the long, winding, light- 
ish streak of road and the endless outlines of monot- 
onous pine-trees on either side against the dark sky. 

" Six miles to Curtin Harbor! " cries Starrett at 
last. " That boy 's a fraud. I believe it 's sixty." 

"Reckon dey 're Cape Cod miles, Mas'r Star- 
rett," says Joe. " Dey say down yer, yo' know, 
dat one on 'em 's equal to two ob good trav'lin' 
in any uthah part ob de worl'." 

If it were only clear now, coasting merrily down 
these hills would be royal fun, but in this state of 
the weather caution is necessary. A halt is called 
for consultation. The six composedly dismount 
and sit down on the clumps of "poverty grass," 
beneath the doubtful shelter of the pines. 

" Well, now," asks Starrett, "what are we going 
to do ? I know you girls are tired and drenched ; 
you need n't deny it. And there 's no sign of a 
house this side of Jericho or Jerusalem." 

Suddenly Charley has an idea. " O girls," she 
says, "let 's camp out, right here! We 're not 
,-i>adly off, for we all have our waterproof cloaks ; 
but you 've all been longing for an adventure, and 
here 's one for a finale. We '11 at least make a 
tent and have supper. It '11 be just splendid ! " 

The club vociferously acquiesce. Joe alone, 
dubious, shakes his head. But he is outvoted and 

A quantity of pine boughs are piled, by Joe and 
Starrett, tent-fashion, across and around four of 
the tricycles ; a heap of dry leaves, carefully col- 
lected, makes a fragrant couch, whereon the young 
ladies compose themselves, wrapped and snugly 
covered with shawls and capes from the "luggage- 
carriers." Lastly Joe spreads the rubber water- 
proofs securely over the wheels and boughs, and 
the young campers are completely sheltered. 

A rummage in the lunch-boxes and " luggage- 
carriers " of the six machines brings to light half a 
dozen soda crackers, two bananas, six pieces of 
gingerbread, a slice of dry cheese, three apples, and 
— this is Joe's surprise ! — a small can of chicken. 

A chorus of delight greets this last discovery, 
and Joe is at once besieged. 

"Now, yo' jes' sot down, ef yo' please, young 
ladies," says Joe, holding the can above his head. 
"I '11 'tend to yo' d'reckly. Yo' jes' gib me de 
tings and I '11 serve supper in fus'-class style." 

When the chicken, — delicately served on the soda 
crackers, — the apples, bananas, and gingerbread 
are distributed, and the cheese toasted — in a fash- 
ion — at one of the lamps, the merry six leave not 
a crumb to tell the tale. It is true that a conscious 
vacancy still exists in the six hungry stomachs — 
such appetites have these young wheelers ; but 
they are refreshed and noonethinksof complaining. 

The merry meal finished, weariness and the pat- 
ter of rain incline the girls to rest, and soon silence 
falls upon the camp, broken only by the sighing 
of the wind among the dark pine boughs, and the 
occasional chirp of some sleepy bird. 

Then Starret, also, wrapped in his waterproof 
coat, throws himself down to rest beneath the 
shelter of a friendly pine close by. 

Joe, left alone as the sentinel, falls to thinm % 
over the situation, wondering where they an^fi 



whether they have missed the right road. He 
walks about uneasily and then stands looking up 
and down the stretch of road. The tricycle lamp, 
which he has lighted to dispel the gloom, casts a 
yellow gleam over the tent and Starrett's shrouded 
figure, while beyond and all around are the pines 
with their swaying branches and the long black 
vistas between. Joe walks back and forth, in the 

The eyes move, come boldly forward, and Joe, 
now doubly astonished, sees full in the glare of 
the tricycle lamp — a big grayish cat ! 

And the cat has a nickel-plated collar with a 
ribbon attached. Joe knows that even on Cape 
Cod no wild beasts roam about, in summer storms, 
with nickeled and be-ribboned collars, but what 
can a cat be doing away in the depths of a pine 


rain, vainly trying to think in which direction they 
are to proceed. 

He has been wondering thus for perhaps five 
minutes, when he becomes aware of a pair of fiery 
eyes watching him from the shadows. Joe starts. 
He does not know what peculiar class of wild 
beasts inhabits Cape Cod, but there are the eyes 
plainly enough. He stops and stands motionless. 

forest ? And then he suddenly concludes that the 
cat's home can not be far away. The gray cat 
comes purring about his knees. Joe is fond of 
cats, so he takes it in his arms and fondles its wet 
fur, and it proves to be company for him and 
really helps him to forget the discomfort of the 

At about seven o'clock in the evening, however, 




the rain slackens, the clouds scatter, and rifts of 
light appear through the trees. And just as Joe 
is thinking of rousing the club for another 
"spin," he hears a whistle and a heavy step 
from across the road. Then an old farmer fellow 
of about forty-five, in search of a lost cow, comes 
to an abrupt and amazed halt at confronting 
among the pines Joe, the gray cat, Starrett's re- 
cumbent figure, the tent, and the glimmering 
tricycle wheels. He stands speechless until Joe's 
voice breaks the spell. 

" Good-ebenin', sar," says Joe. " Can you tell 
me if dis is de road to Curtin Harbor ? " 

"Curtin Harbor!" exclaims the farmer, with 
his eyes still full of mute amazement. " No, it 's 
not. 'T any rate not the direct one. If you 'vc 
come over from Harwich, you 've gone two' miles 
out of yer way. You should have taken the other 
road, back there by the old schoolhouse." 

" Dar 's whar I missed it ! " cries Joe, slapping 
his knee. " I was suah I did sumfin' wrong some- 
whar, but I could n't locate it, to save me ! I 'se 
much obliged." 

" You can cut across to the main road by cross- 
ing my field yonder and going up by the house 
just beyond " 

" Hi, den dere is a house over yar ! " says Joe. 

" Why, certainly," says the farmer, " not more 
than forty rods from here." And when Joe finds 
how very near he has been to a comfortable farm- 
house he says he feels "like kickin' hisself." 

" But," says the visitor, still eying the camp. 
"How did it all happen. Are you traveling on 
foot ? " 

" No, sar; on tricycles," explains Joe, proudly ; 
"we are de Girls' Tricycle Club, all dc way from 
Shcrridoc, wid Mas'r Starrett an' me along to look 
arter 'em and see 'em safe down to Curtin Harbor. 
We los' de track back yondah, an' de young gem- 
man an' I jcs' rig up dis tent for to keep the young 
ladies dry an' gib 'em a chance to rest till de 
shower was ober. " 

The farmer's surprise grows to interest. 

" And so this is a tricycle," he says. " And did 
the young ladies ride those things all the way from 
Shcrridoc ? " 

" Allde way, sar," answers Joe, proudly, " 'cept 
when we wus stuck in de Sandywiches and had to 
be carted froo wid a team." 

After the good man's curiosity has been satisfied, 
and Starrett has summoned the girls to appear, 
the worthy farmer strolls off after his lost cow, first 
inviting the club to the farm to another supper. 
One by one, the girls emerge from their camp, but 

when they hear how near to a house they have 
been during the rain, great is the laughter. 

" I don't care, though," cries Cornelia Hadwin ; 
" we 've really had a sort of a camping-out time, 
and I 'm glad of it." 

After hearing Joe's report, the club determines 
to push on at once to Curtin Harbor in the early 
evening, without accepting the hospitable invita- 
tion to supper at the farmhouse. 

The two miles to the main road are quickly 
traversed, and before long the club wheels 
around a long curve in the road, and the 
blue expanse of Curtin Harbor lies beneath 
them. The clouds are gone by this time ; the ris- 
ing moon shoots slantwise through a few thin, dis- 
solving folds, and brings out ripples of gold and 
silver on the long seas. There seems to be a 
breeze that stirs the water to darker ruffles beyond 
the headland, but where the young folk sit on their 
tricycles, enjoying the beauty of the scene and the 
salty damp of the evening air, not a blade of the 
coarse, silvery beach-grass stirs ; every spire and 
blade stands in sheeny silver in the mellow 

Below the beach-road branches off a long wind- 
ing descent to the quiet cottages which lie in the 
evening glow, seemingly fast asleep. 

" Now, girls, for a good coast! " cries Starrett. 
" Here goes ! " 

And away indeed he goes, over the brow of the 
hill, rolling swiftly, and removing his feet from the 
pedals as his machine gathers way. Away also they 
all fly after him, merry as larks, waking all the 
echoes of the shore with their light-hearted shouts 
and laughter. The tricycle lamps flash out upon 
the seaward road, and soon it comes to pass, that 
as Charley's wheels whiz flashing into the wide, 
grassy dooryard of a certain pleasant little sum- 
mer abode, a hand lifts the window curtain, and 
a voice, with a ring of irrepressible gladness but a 
great pretense of gruffness, calls out : 

" Is this my noisy daughter, who has been run- 
ning wild for a week over all the roads on Cape 
Cod ? " 

"Oh, Papa!" cries Charley, gleefully, "we 
've had a perfectly charming trip ! " 

And so says the entire club. And they pass 
a vote of thanks to Joe for taking faithful care 
of them, and to Starrett for his excellent escort 
duty. And now when the story of their eighty- 
mile ride is told, everybody votes tricycling a won- 
derfully health-giving and delightful exercise, and 
the first long trip of the Girls' Tricycling Club a 
grand success. 



By Laura Ledyard Pope. 

My neighbor's morning-glories rise 
And flutter at her casement ; 

My morning-glories' lovely eyes 
Peep just above the basement. 

With loveliness the railing, 
And thrust their starry faces through 
The vines about the paling. 

But when at last the thrifty sun 

A work-day world arouses, 
Hers gather up their dainty skirts 

And vanish in their houses. 

They draw their silken curtains close, 
There 's not a soul can find them ; 

And mine run up the school-house path, 
And shut the door behind them ! 

f ^yoM^dkedmHe^dmch shewould say, 

I you please wont you. go -, 
jn not in the humor today. 




By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 


&.<-<■■:<.;'-< .< <■■<:.-.< .<: :^:*:\- <. •--. 

HfIM: LYE.TW Y EODVE tr€r,EG.crri'E AuTRVAE-FiTiG DcKlNGcvnY ■ 'Auscc cp Ali'scke 
;.- HlLoicAKPC I-IYS WYFE ■ '■ 

Chapter VII. 

IN the following Sunday 
morning, Air. Mor- 
daunt had a large con- 
gregation. Indeed, he 
could scarcely remember 
any Sunday on which the church had been so 
crowded. People appeared upon the scene who sel- 
dom did him the honor of coming to hear his ser- 
mons. There were even people from Hazelton, 
which was the next parish. There were hearty, 
sunburned farmers, stout, comfortable, apple- 
cheeked wives in their best bonnets and most gor- 
geous shawls, and half a dozen children or so to 
each family. The doctor's wife was there, with her 
four daughters. Mrs. Kimsey and Mr. Kimsey, 
who kept the druggist's shop, and made pills, and 
did up powders for everybody within ten miles, sat 
in their pew ; Mrs. Dibble in hers, Miss Smiff, the 
village dressmaker, and her friend Miss Perkins, 
the milliner, sat in theirs ; the doctor's young man 
was present, and the druggist's apprentice ; in 
fact, almost every family on the county side was 
represented, in one way or another. 

In the course of the preceding week, many won- 
derful stories had been told of little Lord Fauntle- 
roy. Mrs. Dibble had been kept so busy attending 
to customers who came in to buy a pennyworth of 
needles or a ha'p'orth of tape and to hear what she 
had to relate, that the little shop bell over the 

door had nearly tinkled itself to death over the 
coming and going. Mrs. Dibble knew exactly 
how his small lordship's rooms had been furnished 
for him, what expensive toys had been bought, 
how there was a beautiful brown pony awaiting 
him, and a small groom to attend it, and a little 
dog-cart, with silver-mounted harness. And she 
could tell, too, what all the servants had said when 
they had caught glimpes of the child on the night 
of his arrival; and how every female below stairs 
had said it was a shame, so it was, to part the poor 
pretty dear from his mother ; and had all declared 
their hearts came into their mouths when he went 
alone into the library to see his grandfather, for 
" there was no knowing how he 'd be treated, and 
his lordship's temper was enough to fluster them 
with old heads on their shoulders, let alone a 

" But if you '11 believe me, Mrs. Jennifer, mum," 
Mrs. Dibble had said, " fear that child does not 
know — so Mr. Thomas hisself says; an' set an' 
smile he did, an' talked to his lordship as if they 'd 
been friends ever since his first hour. An' the 
Earl so took aback, Mr. Thomas says, that he 
could n't do nothing but listen and stare from 
under his eyebrows. An' it 's Mr. Thomas's opin- 
ion, Mrs. Bates, mum, that bad as he is, he was 
pleased in his secret soul, an' proud, too ; for a 
handsomer little fellow, or with better manners, 
though so old-fashioned, Mr. Thomas says he 'd 
never wish to see." 

And then there had come the story of Higgins. 
The Reverend Mr. Mordaunt had told it at his own 
dinner table, and the servant who had heard it 
had told it in the kitchen, and from there it had 
spread like wildfire. 

And on market-day, when Higgins had appeared 
in town, he had been questioned on every side, and 
Newick had been questioned too, and in response 
had shown to two or three people the note signed 
'•' Fauntleroy." 

And so the farmers' wives had found plenty to 
talk of over their tea and their shopping, and they 
had done the subject full justice and made the most 
of it. And on Sunday they had either walked to 
church or had been driven in their gigs by their 
husbands, who were perhaps a trifle curious them- 
selves about the new little lord who was to be in 
time the owner of the soil. 

It was by no means the Earl's habit to attend 
church, but he chose to appear on this first Sun- 



day — it was his whim to present himself in the 
huge family pew, with Fauntleroy at his side. 

There were many loiterers in the churchyard, 
and many lingerers in the lane that morning. 
There were groups at the gates and in the porch. 
and there had been much discussion as to whether 
my lord would really appear or not. When this 
discussion was at its height, one good woman sud- 
denly uttered an exclamation. 

" Eh," she said ; " that must be the mother, 
pretty young thing." 

All who heard turned and looked at the slender 
figure in black coming up the path. The veil was 
thrown back from her face and they could see how 
fair and sweet it was, and how the bright hair 
curled as softly as a child's under the little widow's 

She was not thinking of the people about; she 
was thinking of Cedric, and of his visits to her. 
and his joy over his new pony, on which he had 
actually ridden to her door the day before, sitting 
very straight and looking very proud and happy. 
But soon she could not help being attracted by the 
fact that she was being looked at and that her ar- 
rival had created some sort of sensation. She first 
noticed it because an old woman in a red cloak 
made a bobbing curtsy to her, and then another 
did the same thing and said, " God bless you, my 
lady ! " and one man after another took off his hat 
as she passed. For a moment she did not under- 
stand, and then she realized that it was because 
she was little Lord Fauntleroy's mother that they 
did so, and she flushed rather shyly and smiled 
and bowed too, and said, " Thank you " in a 
gentle voice to the old woman who had blessed 
her. To a person who had always lived in a bus- 
tling, crowded American city this simple deference 
was very novel, and at first just a little embarrass- 
ing; but after all, she could not help liking and 
being touched by the friendly warm-heaitedness 
of which it seemed to speak. She had scarcely 
passed through the stone porch into the church 
before the great event of the day happened. The 
carriage from the Castle, with its handsome horses 
and tall liveried servants, bowled around the cor- 
ner and down the green lane. 

" Here they come ! " went from one looker-on 
to another. 

And then the carriage drew up, and Thomas 
stepped down and opened the door, and a little 
boy, dressed in black velvet, and with a splendid 
mop of bright waving hair, jumped out. 

Every man, woman, and child looked curiously 
upon him. 

" He 's the Captain over again ! " said those 
of the on-lookers who remembered his father. 
"He 's the Captain's self, to the life ! " 

He stood there in the sunlight looking up at the 
Earl, as Thomas helped that nobleman out, with 
the most affectionate interest that could be imag- 
ined. The instant he could help, he put out his 
hand and offered his shoulder as if he had been 
seven feet high. It was plain enough to every one 
that however it might be with other people, the 
Earl of Dorincourt struck no terror into the breast 
of his grandson. 

" Just lean on me," they heard him say. " How 
glad the people are to see you, and how well they 
all seem to know you ! " 

" Take off your cap, Fauntleroy," said the Earl. 
" They are bowing to you." 

'• To me ! " cried Fauntleroy, whipping off his 
cap in a moment, baring his bright head to the 
crowd and turning shining, puzzled eyes on them 
as he tried to bow to every one at once. 

" God bless your lordship ! " said the curtsying, 
red-cloaked old woman who had spoken to his 
mother ; " long life to you ! " 

" Thank you, ma'am," said Fauntleroy. And 
then they went into the church, and were looked 
at there, on their w 7 ay up the aisle to the square, 
red-cushioned and curtained pew. When Fauntle- 
roy was fairly seated he made two discoveries which 
pleased him : the first was that, across the church 
where he could look at her, his mother sat and 
smiled at him ; the second, that at one end of 
the pew against the wall, knelt two quaint figures 
carven in stone, facing each other as they kneeled 
on either side of a pillar supporting two stone mis- 
sals, their pointed hands folded as if in prayer, 
their dress very antique and strange. On the tab- 
let by them was written something of which he 
could only read the curious words : 

" Here lyethe ye bodye of Gregorye Arthure 
Fyrst Earle of Dorincort allsoe of Alysone Hilde- 
garde hys wyfe." 

"May I whisper? "inquired his lordship, devoured 
by curiosity. 

'• What is it? " said his grandfather. 

•' Who are they?" 

" Some of your ancestors," answered the Earl, 
'• who lived a few hundred years ago." 

"Perhaps," said Lord Fauntleroy, regarding 
them with respect, " perhaps I got my spelling from 
them." And then he proceeded to find his place 
in the church service. When the music began, he 
stood up and looked across at his mother, smiling. 
He was very fond of music, and his mother and he 
often sang together, so he joined in with the rest, 
his pure, sweet, high voice rising as clear as the 
song of a bird. He quite forgot himself in his 
pleasure in it. The Earl forgot himself a little 
too, as he sat in his curtain-shielded corner of the 
pew and watched the boy. Cedric stood with the 




big psalter open in his hands, singing with all his 
childish might, his face a little uplifted, happily; 
and as he sang, a long ray of sunshine crept in 
and, slanting through a golden pane of a stained 
glass window, brightened the falling hair about his 
young head. His mother, as she looked at him 
across the church, felt a thrill pass through her 
heart, and a prayer rose in it too; a prayer that 
the pure, simple happiness of his childish soul 
might last, and that the strange, great fortune 

born. And that is best of all, Ceddie, — it is better 
than everything else, that the world should be a 
little better because a man has lived — even ever 
so little better, dearest." 

And on his return to the Castle, Fauntleroy had 
repeated her words to his grandfather. 

" And I thought about you when she said that," 
he ended; " and I told her that was the way the 
world was because you had lived, and I was going 
to try if I could be like you." 


which had fallen to him might bring no wrong 
or evil with it. There were many soft anxious 
thoughts in her tender heart in those new days. 

" Oh, Ceddie ! " she had said to him the even- 
ing before, as she hung over him in saying good- 
night, before he went away; "oh, Ceddie, dear, 
I wish for your sake I was very clever and could 
say a great many wise things ! But only be good, 
dear, only be brave, only be kind and true always, 
and then you will never hurt any one, so long as 
you live, and you may help many, and the big 
world may be better because my little child was 

"And what did she say to that?" asked his 
lordship, a trifle uneasily 

" She said that was right, and we must always 
look for good in people and try to be like it." 

Perhaps it was this the old man remembered as 
he glanced through the divided folds of the red 
curtain of his pew. Many times he looked over 
the people's heads to where his son's wife sat 
alone, and he saw the fair face the unforgiven dead 
had loved, and the eyes which were so like those 
of the child at his side ; but what his thoughts 
were, and whether they were hard and bitter, or 



softened a little, it would have been hard to 

As they came out of the church, many of those 
who had attended the service stood waiting to see 
them pass. As they neared the gate, a man who 
stood with his hat in his hand made a step forward 
and then hesitated. He was a middle-aged farmer, 
with a careworn face. 

" Well, Higgins," said the Earl. 

Fauntleroy turned quickly to look at him. 

" Oh ! " he exclaimed ; " is it Mr. Higgins? " 

" Yes," answered the Earl dryly; "and I sup- 
pose he came to take a look at his new landlord." 

" Yes, my lord." said the man, his sunburned 
face reddening. " Mr. Newick told me his young 
lordship was kind enough to speak for me, and I 
thought I 'd like to say a word of thanks, if I might 
be allowed." 

Perhaps he felt some wonder when he saw what 
a little fellow it was who had innocently done so much 
for him, and who stood there looking up just as 
one of his own less fortunate children might have 
done — apparently not realizing his own impor- 
tance in the least. 

"I 've a great deal to thank your lordship for," 
he said ; "a great deal. I " 

" Oh," said Fauntleroy; " I only wrote the let- 
ter. It was my grandfather who did it. But you 
know how he is about always being good to every- 
body. Is Mrs. Higgins well now ? " 

Higgins looked a trifle taken aback. He also 
was somewhat startled at hearing his noble land- 


lord presented in the character of a benevolent 
being, full of engaging qualities. 

"I — well, yes, your lordship," he stammered; 
" the missus is better since the trouble was took 
off her mind. It was worrying broke her down." 

"I 'm glad of that," said Fauntleroy. "My 
grandfather was very sorry about your children 
having the scarlet fever, and so was I. He has had 
children himself. I 'm his son's little boy, you 

Higgins was on the verge of being panic-strick- 
en. He felt it would be the safer and more dis- 
creet plan not to look at the Earl, as it had been 
well known that his fatherly affection for his sons 
had been such that he had seen them about twice 
a year, and that when they had been ill, he had 
promptly departed for London, because he would 
not be bored with doctors and nurses. It was a 
little trying therefore to his lordship's nerves to be 
told, while he looked on, his eyes gleaming from 
under his shaggy eyebrows, that he felt an interest 
in scarlet fever. 

" You see, Higgins," broke in the Earl with 
a fine grim smile ; " you people have been mis- 
taken in me. Lord Fauntleroy understands me. 
When you want reliable information on the subject 
of my character, apply to him. Get into the car- 
riage, Fauntleroy." 

And Fauntleroy jumped in, and the carriage 
rolled away down the green lane, and even when it 
turned the corner into the high road, the Earl was 
still grimly smiling. 

onthmed. j 


[A Historical Biography \ 

By Horace E. Scudder. 

Chapter XIII. 

A Virginia Burgess. 

Before Washington's marriage, and while he 
was in camp near Fort Cumberland, making active 
preparations for the campaign against Fort Du- 
quesne, there was an election for members of the 
Virginia House of Burgesses. Washington offered 
himself as candidate to the electors of Frederic 
County, in which Winchester, where he had been 
for the past three years, was the principal town. 
His friends were somewhat fearful that the other 
candidates, who were on the ground, would have 
the advantage over Washington, who was with 

the army, at a distance; and they wrote, urging 
him to come on and look after his interests. Colo- 
nel Bouquet, under whose orders he was, cheer- 
fully gave him leave of absence, but Washington 
replied : 

" I had, before Colonel Stephen came to this 
place, abandoned all thoughts of attending per- 
sonally the election at Winchester, choosing rather 
to leave the management of that affair to my 
friends, than be absent from my regiment, when 
there is a probability of its being called to duty. 
I am much pleased now, that I did so." 

Here was a case where Washington broke his 
excellent rule of — "If you want a thing done, do 
it yourself." If his regiment was to lie idle at Fort 




Cumberland, he could easily have galloped to Win- 
chester, and have been back in a few days ; but there 
was a chance that it might move, and so he gave up 
at once all thought of leaving it. Glad enough he 
was to have the news confirmed. To lead his men 
forward, and to have a hand in the capture of Fort 
Duqucsne, was the first thing — the election must 
take care of itself. This was not a bad statement 
for his friends at Winchester to make. A man 
who sticks to his post, and does his duty without 
regard to his personal interests, is the very man 
for a representative in the legislature. The people 
of Frederic knew Washington thoroughly, and 
though they had sometimes felt his heavy hand, 
they gave him a hearty vote, and he was elected a 
member of the House of Burgesses. 

This was in 1758, and he continued to serve as a 
member for the next fifteen years. There is a 
story told of his first appearance in the House. 
He was something more than a new member; he 
was the late Commander-in-Chief of the Virginia 
army, the foremost man, in a military way, in the 
province ; he had just returned from the successful 
expedition against Fort Duquesne. So the House 
resolved to welcome him in a manner becoming 
so gallant a Virginian, and it passed a vote of 
thanks for the distinguished military services he 
had rendered the country. The Speaker, Mr. 
Robinson, rose when Washington came in to take 
his seat, and made a little speech of praise and 
welcome, presenting the thanks of the House. 
Every one applauded and waited for the tall 
colonel to respond. There he stood, blushing, 
stammering, confused. He could give his orders 
to his men easily enough, and he could even say 
what was necessary, to Mrs. Martha Custis ; but to 
address the House of Burgesses in answer to a vote 
of thanks — that was another matter ! Not a plain 
word could he get out. It was a capital answer, 
and the Speaker interpreted it to the House. 

" Sit down, Mr. Washington," said he. " Your 
modesty equals your valor, and that surpasses the 
power of any language I possess." 

It was a trying ordeal for the new member, and 
if speech-making had been his chief business in 
the House, he would have made a sorry failure. 
He rarely made a speech, and never a long one, 
but for all that he was a valuable member, and 
his re-election at every term showed that the 
people understood his value. If there was any 
work to be done, any important committee to 
be appointed, Washington could be counted on, 
and his sound judgment, his mature experience, 
and sense of honor, made his opinion one which 
every one respected. He was always on hand, 
punctual, and faithful; and qualities of diligence 
and fidelity in such a place, when combined with 

sound judgment and honor, are sure to tell in 
the long run. He once gave a piece of advice 
to a nephew who had also been elected to the 
House, and it probably was the result of his own 
experience and observation. 

" The only advice I will offer," he said ; " if you 
have a mind to command the attention of the 
House, is to speak seldom but on important sub- 
jects, except such as particularly relate to your 
constituents ; and, in the former case, make your- 
self perfect master of the subject. Never exceed a 
decent warmth, and submit your sentiments with 
diffidence. A dictatorial style, though it may 
carry conviction, is always accompanied with dis- 

It was in January, 1759, that Washington took 
his seat in the House, and if he made it his rule 
" to speak seldom but on important subjects," he 
had several opportunities to speak before he finally 
left the Virginia Legislature for a more important 
gathering. The first very important subject was 
the Stamp Act, in 1765. The British Government 
had passed an act requiring the American colo- 
nies to place a stamp upon every newspaper or 
almanac that was published, upon every marriage 
certificate, every will, every deed, and upon other 
legal papers. These stamps were to be sold by 
officers of the crown, and the money obtained by 
the sale was to be used to pay British soldiers sta- 
tioned in America to enforce the laws made by 

The colonies were aflame with indignation. 
They declared that Parliament had no right to 
pass such an act ; that the Ministry that pro- 
posed it was about an unlawful business ; and that 
it was adding insult to injury to send over soldiers 
to enforce such laws. People, when they meet 
on the corner of the street and discuss public 
matters, are usually much more outspoken than 
when they meet in legislatures ; but the American 
colonists were wont to talk very plainly in their 
assemblies, and it was no new thing for the repre- 
sentatives, chosen by the people, to be at odds 
with the governor, who represented the British 
Government. So when Patrick Henry rose up 
in the House of Burgesses, with his resolutions 
declaring that the Stamp Act was illegal and that 
the colony of Virginia had always enjoyed the right 
of governing itself, as far as taxation went, — and 
when he made a flaming speech which threatened 
the King, there was great confusion; and though 
his resolutions were passed, there was but a bare 

There is no record of what Washington may 
have said or how he voted on that occasion, but 
his letters show that he thought the Stamp Act a 
very unwise act on the part of Great Britain, and a 



piece of oppression. " That Act," he says, "could 
be looked upon in no other light by every person 
who would view it in its proper colors." But he 
did not rush into a passion over it. Instead, he 
studied it coolly, and before it was repealed, wrote 
at some length to his wife's uncle, who was living 
in London, his reasons for thinking that the Brit- 
ish Ministry would gain nothing by pressing the 
Stamp Act and other laws which bore hard on 
colonial prosperity ; for he held that if they would 
only see it, the colonies were as necessary to Eng- 
land as England to the colonies. 

It is difficult for us to-day to put ourselves in the 
place of Washington and other men of his time. 
Washington was a Virginian, and was one of the 
Legislature. He was used to making laws and 
providing for the needs of the people of Virginia, 
but he was accustomed to look beyond Virginia to 


England. There the King was, and he was one of 
the subjects of the King. The King's officers came 
to Virginia, and when Washington saw, as he so 
often did, a British man-of-war lying in the river 
off Mount Vernon, his mind was thrilled with 
pleasure as he thought of the power of the empire 
to which he belonged. He had seen the British 
soldiers marching against the French, and he had 
himself served under a British general. He had 
an ardent desire to go to England, to see London, 
to seethe King and his Court, and Parliament, and 
the Courts of Justice, and the great merchants who 
made the city famous; but as yet he had been 
unable to go. 

He had seen but little of the other colonies. He 
had made a journey to Boston, and that had given 
him some acquaintance with men ; but wherever 

he went, he found people looking eagerly toward 
England and asking what the Ministry there would 
do about fighting the French on the Western bor- 
ders. Though he and others might never have 
seen England, it was the center of the world to 
them. He thought of the other colonies not so 
much as all parts of one great country on this side 
of the Atlantic, as each separately a part of the 
British Empire. 

After all, however, and most of all, he was a 
Virginian. In Virginia he owned land. There was 
his home, and there his occupation. He was a 
farmer, a planter of tobacco and wheat, and it was 
his business to sell his products. As for the French, 
they were enemies of Great Britain, but they were 
also very near enemies of Virginia. They were 
getting possession of land in Virginia itself — land 
which Washington owned in part ; and when he 
was busily engaged in driving them out, he did 
not have to stop and think of France, he needed 
only to think of Fort Duquesne, a few days' march 
to the westward. 

When, therefore he found the British Govern- 
ment making laws which made him pay roundly 
for sending his tobacco to market, and taxing him 
as if there were no Virginia Legislature to say what 
taxes the people could and should pay, he began 
to be restless and dissatisfied. England was a 
great way off; Virginia was close at hand. He 
was loyal to the King and had fought under the 
King's officers, but if the King cared nothing for 
his loyalty, and only wanted his pence, his loyalty 
was likely to cool. His chief resentment, however, 
was against Parliament. Parliament was making 
laws and laying taxes. But what was Parliament? 
It was a body of law-makers in England, just as 
the House of Burgesses was in Virginia. To be 
sure, it could pass laws about navigation which 
concerned all parts of the British Empire ; but, 
somehow, it made these laws very profitable to 
England and very disadvantageous to Virginia. 
Parliament, however, had no right to pass such a 
law as the Stamp Act. That was making a special 
law for the American colonies, and taking away a 
right which belonged to the colonial assemblies. 

Washington had grown up with an intense love 
of law, and in this he was like other American 
Englishmen. In England there were very few 
persons who made the laws, the vast majority had 
nothing to do but to obey the laws. Yet it is among 
the makers of laws that the love of law prevails ; 
and since in America a great many more English- 
men had to do with government in colony and in 
town than in England, there were more who 
passionately insisted upon the law being observed. 
An unlawful act was to them an outrage. When 
they said that England was oppressing them, and 

5 o8 



making them slaves, they did not mean that they 
wanted liberty to do 'what they pleased, but that 
they wanted to be governed by just laws, made by 
the men who had the right to make laws. And 
that right belonged to the legislatures, to which 
they sent representatives. 

So it was out of his love of law and justice that 
Washington and others protested against the Stamp 
Act ; and when the act was repealed, they threw up 
their hats and hurrahed, not because they now 
should not have to buy and use stamps, but be- 
cause by repealing the act, Parliament had as much 
as said that it was an unlawful act. However, this 
was an unwilling admission on the part of Parlia- 
ment, which repealed the act, but said at once : 
"We can tax you if we choose to." 

In fact, Parliament stupidly tried soon after to 
prove that it had the right by imposing duties on 
tea, paper, glass, and painters' colors. But the 
people in the colonies were on the alert. They 
had really been governing themselves so long that 
now, when Parliament tried to get the power away 
from them, they simply went on using their power. 
They did this in two ways; the colonial govern- 
ments again asserted their rights in the case, 
and the people began to form associations, in 
which they bound themselves not to buy goods of 
England until the offensive act was repealed. 
This latter was one of the most interesting move- 
ments in the breaking away of the colonies from 
England. It was a popular movement; it did not 
depend upon what this or that colonial assembly 
might do ; it was perfectly lawful, and so far as 
it was complete it was effective. Yet all the while 
the movement was doing more, and what but a 
very few detected ; it was binding the scattered 
people in the colonies together. 

Washington took a great deal of interest in these 
associations, and belonged to one himself. He 
was growing exceedingly impatient of English 
misrule, and saw clearly to what it was leading. 
"At a time," he says, "when our lordly masters in 
Great Britain will be satisfied with nothing less 
than the deprivation of American freedom, it seems 
highly necessary that something should be done to 
avert the stroke, and maintain the liberty which 
we have derived from our ancestors. But the 
manner of doing it to answer the purpose effect- 
ually is the point in question. That no man 
should scruple, or hesitate a moment, to use arms 
in defense of so valuable a blessing, is clearly my 
opinion. Yet arms, I would beg leave to add, 
should be the last resort. We have already, it is 
said, proved the inefficacy of addresses to the 
throne, and remonstrances to Parliament. How 
far, then, their attention to our rights and privi- 
leges is to be awakened or alarmed by starving 

their trade and manufactures, remains to be 

He took' the lead informing an association in 
Virginia, and he kept scrupulously to his agree- 
ment; for when he sent his orders to London, he 
was very careful to instruct his correspondents to 
send him none of the goods unless the Act of Parlia- 
ment had meantime been repealed. As the times 
grew more exciting, Washington watched events 
steadily. He took no step backward, but he moved 
forward deliberately and with firmness. He did not 
allow himself to be carried away by the passions of 
the time. It was all very well, some said, to stop 
buying from England, but let us stop selling also. 
They need our tobacco. Suppose we refuse to 
send it unless Parliament repeals the Act. Wash- 
ington stood out against that except as a final 
resource, and for the reason which he stated in a 

" I am convinced, as much as I am of my own existence, that 
there is no relief for us but in their distress; and 1 think, at least I 
hope, that there is public virtue enough left among us to deny our- 
selves everything but the bare necessaries of life to accomplish this 
end. This we have a right to do, and no power upon earth can com- 
pel us to do otherwise, till it has first reduced us to the most abject 
state of slavery. The stopping of our exports would, no doubt, be 
a shorter method than the other to effect this purpose ; but if we owe 
money to Great Britain, nothing but the last necessity can j ustify the 
non-payment of it ; and, therefore, I have great doubts upon this 
head, and wish to see the other method first tried, which is legal and 
will facilitate these payments." 

That is, by the economy necessarily preached, 
the people would save money with which to pay 
their debts. 

Washington had been at the front both in the 
House of Burgesses, in his own county, and among 
the people generally. He was a member of the 
convention called to meet at Williamsburg; and 
he was appointed by that convention one of seven 
delegates to attend the first Continental Congress 
at Philadelphia. 

Chapter XIV. 


Near the end of August, 1774, Patrick Henry 
and Edmund Pendleton, two of the delegates from 
Virginia to the first Continental Congress, rode 
from their homes to Mount Vernon and made 
a short visit. Then, on the last day of the month, 
Washington mounted his horse also, and the three 
friends started for Philadelphia to attend the con- 
gress, which was called to meet on the 5 th of 
September. Pendleton was a dozen years older 
than Washington, and Henry was the youngest of 
the party. He was the most fiery in speech, and 
more than once, in recent conventions, had carried 
his hearers away by his bold words. He was the most 



eloquent man in the colonies, — of rude appear- 
ance, but when once wrought up by excitement, 
able to pour out a torrent of words. 

For my part, I would rather have heard the 
speech which Washington made at the convention 
in Williamsburg in the August before, when he 
rose up to read the resolution which he and his 


neighbors had passed at their meeting in Fairfax 
County. The eloquence of a man who is a famous 
orator is not quite so convincing as that of a man 
of action, who rarely speaks, but who is finally stirred 
by a great occasion. People were used to hearing 
Washington say a few words in a slow, hesitating, 
deliberate way ; and they knew that he had care- 
fully considered beforehand what words he should 
use. But this time he was terribly in earnest, 
and when he had read the resolution, he spoke 
as no one had heard him before. He was a 
passionate man who had his anger under control; 
but when it occasionally burst out, it was as if a 
dam to a stream had given way. And now he was were, fifty-one men, from all the colonies save 

* The above illustration is reproduced from Irving's "Life of Washington," by kind permission of Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons. 

consumed with indignation at the manner in which 
Great Britain was treating the colonies. He was 
ready, he said, to raise a regiment of a thousand 
men, pay all their expenses, and lead them to Bos- 
ton to drive out the King's soldiers. 

The three men, therefore, must have talked long 
and earnestly as they rode to Philadelphia; for the 

Congress which they 
were to attend was the 
first one to which all 
the colonies were in- 
vited to send dele- 
gates. It was to con- 
sider the cause of the 
whole people, and 
Virginia was to see in 
Massachusetts not a 
rival colony, but one 
with which she had 
common cause. The 
last time Washington 
had gone over the 
road he had been on 
an errand to the 
King's chief repre- 
sentative in America, 
the Commander-in- 
Chief, Governor Shir- 
ley, and one matter 
which he had held 
very much at heart 
had been his own com- 
mission as an officer 
He was on a different 
errand now. Still, like 
the men who were 
most in earnest at that 
time, he was thinking 
how the colonies could 
secure their rights as 
colonies, not how they 
might break away 
from England and set up for themselves. 

They were five days on the road, and on Sep- 
tember the 4th, they breakfasted near Newcastle, 
in Delaware, dined at Chester, in Pennsylvania, 
and in the evening were in Philadelphia, at the 
City Tavern, which stood on Second street, 
above Walnut street, and was the meeting-place 
of most of the delegates. Washington, however, 
though he was often at the City Tavern, had his 
lodging at Dr. Shippen's. The Congress met the 
next day at Carpenters' Hall, and was in session 
for seven weeks. The first two or three days were 
especially exciting to the members. There they 





Georgia, met to consult together — Englishmen 
who sang "God save the King," but asked also what 
right the King had to act as he had done toward 
Boston. They did not know one another well at 
the beginning. There was no man among them 
who could be called famous beyond his own col- 
ony, unless it was George Washington. Up to 


this time the different colonies had lived so apart 
from one another, each concerned about its own 
affairs, that there had been little opportunity for a 
man to be widely known. 

So, as they looked at one another at the City 
Tavern, or at the Carpenters' Hall when they 
met, each man was w-ondering who would take the 
lead. Virginia was the largest and most impor- 
tant colony. Massachusetts had a right to speak, 
because she had called the convention, and be- 
cause it was in Boston that the people were suffer- 
ing most from the action of the British Parliament. 
Perhaps the two most conspicuous members at 
first were Patrick Henry, of Virginia, and Samuel 

Adams, of Massachusetts ; but in the seven weeks 
of the session, others showed their good judgment 
and patriotism, Patrick Henry was asked after he 
returned to Virginia whom he considered the great- 
est man in the Congress, and he replied : " If you 
speak of eloquence, Mr. Rutledge, of South Caro- 
lina, is by far the greatest orator ; but if you speak 
of solid information and sound judg- 
ment, Colonel Washington is un- 
questionably the greatest man on the 

Washington carried on the meth- 
ods which he had always practiced. 
He attended the sessions punctually 
and regularly ; he listened to what 
others had to say, and gave his own 
opinion only after he had carefully 
formed it. It is an example of the 
thoroughness with which he made 
himself master of every subject, that 
he used to copy in his own hand the 
important papers which were laid be- 
fore Congress, such as the petition to 
the King which was agreed upon. 
This he would do deliberately and 
exactly, — it was like committing the 
paper to memory. Besides this, he 
made abstracts of other papers, stat- 
ing the substance of them in a few 
clear words. 

The greater part of each day was 
occupied in the Congress, but be- 
sides the regular business, there was 
a great deal of informal talk among 
the members. They were full of the 
subject, and used to meet to discuss 
affairs at dinner, or in knots about 
the fire at the City Tavern. Phila- 
delphia was then the most important 
citv in the country, and there were 
many men of wide experience living 
in it, Washington went everywhere 
by invitation. He dined with the 
Chief Justice, with the Mayor, and with all the 
notable people. 

In this way he was able to become better 
acquainted both with the state of affairs in other 
colonies and with the way the most intelligent 
people were thinking about the difficulties of the 
time. The first Continental Congress gave expres- 
sion to the deliberate judgment of the colonies 
upon the acts of Great Britain. It protested 
against the manner in which Parliament was treat- 
ing the colonies. It declared firmly and solemnly 
that as British subjects the people of the colonies 
owed no allegiance to Parliament, in which they 
had no representatives ; that their own legislatures 



alone had the right to lay taxes. But after all, the 
great advantage of this first Congress was in the 
opportunity which it gave for representatives from 
the different colonies to become acquainted with 
one another, and thus to make all parts of the 
country more ready to act together. 

It was only now and then that any one suggested 
the independence of the colonies. Washington, 
like a few others, thought it possible the colonies 
might have to arm and resist the unlawful attempt 
to force unconstitutional laws upon them ; but he 
did not, at this time, go so far as to propose a 
separation from England. He had a friend among 
the British officers in Boston, one of his old com- 
rades in the war against France, a Captain Mac- 
kenzie, who wrote to him, complaining of the way 
the Boston people were behaving. Captain Mac- 
kenzie, very naturally, as an officer, saw only a 
troublesome, rebellious lot of people whom it was 
the business of the army to put down. Washing- 
ton wrote earnestly to him, trying to show him the 
reason why the people felt as they did, and the 
wrong way of looking at the subject which Captain 
Mackenzie and other officers had. He expressed 
his sorrow that fortune should have placed his 
friend in a service that was sure to bring down 
vengeance upon those engaged in it. He went on : 

" I do not mean by this to insinuate that an officer is not to 
discharge his duty, even when chance, not choice, has placed him 
in a disagreeable situation ; but I conceive, when you condemn the 
conduct of the Massachusetts people, you reason from effects, not 
causes ; otherwise you would not wonder at a people, who are every 
day receiving fresh proofs of a systematic assertion of an arbitrary 
power, deeply planned to overturn the laws and constitution of their 
country, and to violate the most essential and valuable rights of man- 
kind, being irritated, and with difficulty restrained from acts of the 
greatest violence and intemperance. For my own part, I confess to you 
candidly, that I view things in a very different point of light from the 
one in which you seem to consider them; and though you are taught 
by venal men ... to believe that the people of Massachusetts are 
rebellious, setting up for independency, and what not, give me leave, 
my good friend, to tell you, that you are abused, grossly abused. . . . 
Give me leave to add, and I think 1 can announce it as a fact, that 
it is not the wish or interest of that government, or any other upon 
this continent, separately or collectively, to set up for independence; 
but this you may at the same time rely on, that none of them will 
ever submit to the loss of those valuable rights and privileges which 
are essential to the happiness of every free State, and without which, 
life, liberty, and property are rendered totally insecure." 

It was with such a belief as this that Washington 
went back to Mount Vernon, and while he was 
occupied with his engrossing private affairs, busied 
himself also with organizing and drilling soldiers. 
Independent companies were formed all over Vir- 
ginia, and one after another placed themselves 
under his command. Although, by the custom 
of those companies, each was independent of the 
others, yet by choosing the same commander they 
virtually made Washington Commander-in-Chief 
of the Virginia volunteers. He was the first mili- 
tary man in the colony, and every one turned to 

him for advice and instruction. So through the 
winter and spring, he was constantly on the move, 
going to one place after another to review the 
companies which had been formed. 

I think that winter and spring of 1775 must have 
been a somewhat sorrowful one to George Wash- 
ington, and that he must have felt as if a great 
change were coming in his life. His wife's 
daughter had died, and he missed her sadly. 
Young John Custis had married and gone away 
to live. The sound of war was heard on all 
sides, and among the visitors to Mount Vernon 
were some who afterward were to be generals in 
the American army. He still rode occasionally 
after the hounds, but the old days of fun were 
gone. George William Fairfax had gone back 
to England, and the jolly company at Belvoir was 
scattered. The house itself there had caught fire, 
and burned to the ground. 

But the time for action was at hand. Washing- 
ton turned from his home and his fox-hunting to 
go to Richmond as a delegate to a second Virginia 
convention. It was called to hear the reports of 
the delegates to Philadelphia and to see what fur- 
ther was to be done. It was clear to some, and to 
Washington among them, that the people must be 
ready for the worst. They had shown themselves in 
earnest by all the drill and training they had been 
going through as independent companies. Now let 
those companies be formed into a real army. It was 
idle to send any 
more petitions 
to the King. 

" We must 
fight! "exclaim- 
ed Patrick Hen- 
ry ; "I repeat 
it, sir ; we must 
fight ! An ap- 
peal to arms and 
the God of Hosts 
is all that is left 
us ! " 

A committee, 
of which Wash- 
ington was one, 
was appointed to 
report a plan for 
an army of Vir- 

But when people make up their minds to fight, 
they know very well, if they are sensible, that 
more than half the task before them is to find 
means for feeding and clothing not only the troops 
but the people who are dependent on the troops. 
Therefore the convention appointed another com- 
mittee, of which Washington also was a member, 





to devise a plan for encouraging manufactures, so 
that the people could do without England. Here- 
tofore, the Virginians had done scarcely any man- 
ufacturing ; nearly everything they needed they 
had bought from England with tobacco. But if 
they were to be at war with England, they must 
be making ready to provide for themselves. It 
was late in the day to do anything; slavery, 
though they did not then see it clearly, had made 
a variety of industries impossible. However, the 
people were advised to form associations to pro- 
mote the raising of wool, cotton, flax, and hemp, 
and to encourage the use of home manufactures. 

Washington was again chosen one of the dele- 
gates to the Continental Congress, for the second 
Congress had been called to meet at Philadelphia. 
He was even readier to go than before. On the day 
when he was chosen, he wrote to his brother John 
Augustine Washington: "It is my full intention 
to devote my life and fortune to the cause we arc 
engaged in, if needful." 

That was at the end of March. The second 
Continental Congress was to meet on May 10 ; 
and just before Washington left Mount Vernon 
came the news of Lexington and Concord. Curi- 
ously enough, the Governor of Virginia had 
done just what Governor Gage had attempted to 
do ; he had seized some powder which was stored 
at Fredericksburg, and placed it for safety on board 
a vessel of the British navy. The independent 
companies at once met and called upon Washing- 
ton to take command of them, that they might 
compel the Governor to restore the powder. 
Washington kept cool. The Governor promised 
to restore the powder, and Washington advised 
the people to wait to see what Congress would do. 

When Congress met, the men who came 
together were no longer strangers to one another. 
They had parted warm friends the previous fall ; 
they had gone to their several homes and now had 
come back more determined than ever, and more 
united. Every one spoke of Lexington and Con- 
cord ; and the Massachusetts men told how large 
an army had already gathered around Boston. But 
it was an army made up not only of Massachusetts 
men, but of men from Connecticut, Rhode Island 
and New Hampshire. It was plain that there must 
be some authority over such an army, and the 
Provincial Congress of Massachusetts wrote to the 
Continental Congress at Philadelphia, advising 
that body to assume control of all the forces, to 
raise a continental army, appoint a commander, 
and do whatever else was necessary to prepare for 
war. There had already been fighting; there was 
an army ; and it was no longer a war between 
Massachusetts and Great Britain. 

I do not know what other delegates to the Con- 
gress at Philadelphia came as soldiers, but there 
was one tall Virginian present who wore his mili- 
tary coat ; and when the talk fell upon appointing 
a commander, all eyes were turned toward him. 
Every one, however, felt the gravity and delicacy 
of the situation. Here was an army adopted by 
Congress; but it was a New England army, and 
if the struggle were to come at Boston, it was natu- 
ral that the troops should mainly come from that 
neighborhood. The colonies were widely separ- 
ated ; they had not acted much together. Would 
it not be better, would it not save ill-feeling, if a 
New England man were to command this New 
England army ? 

There were some who thought thus; and besides, 
there was still a good deal of difference of opinion 
as to the course to be pursued. Some were all 
ready for independence ; others, and perhaps the 
most, hoped to bring the British to terms. Par- 
ties were rising in Congress ; petty jealousies were 
showing themselves, when suddenly John Adams, 
of Massachusetts, seeing into what perplexities 
they were drifting, came forward with a distinct 
proposition that Congress should adopt the army 
before Boston and appoint a commander. He did 
not name Washington, but described him as a cer- 
tain gentleman from Virginia " who could unite 
the cordial exertions of all the colonies better than 
any other person." No one doubted who was 
meant, and Washington, confused and agitated, 
left the room at once. 

Nothing else was now talked of. The delegates 
discussed the matter in groups and small circles, 
and a few days afterward a Maryland delegate 
formally nominated George Washington to be 
Commander-in-Chief of the American Army. He 
was unanimously elected, but the honor of bringing 
him distinctly before the Congress belongs to John 
Adams. It seems now a very natural thing to do, 
but really it was something which required wisdom 
and courage. When one sums up all Washington's 
military experience at this time, it was not great, 
or such as to point him out as unmistakably the 
leader of the American army. There was a gen- 
eral then in command at Cambridge, who had seen 
more of war than Washington had. But Washing- 
ton was the leading military man in Virginia, and 
it was for this reason that John Adams, as a New 
England man, urged his election. The Congress 
had done something to bring the colonies together ; 
the war was to do more, but probably no single 
act really had a more far-reaching significance 
in making the Union, than the act of nominating 
the Virginian Washington by the New England 

(To lie continued.) 

By Helen Gray Cone. 

The Puritan Spring Beauties stood freshly clad 

for church ; 
A Thrush, white-breasted, o'er them sat singing 

on his perch. 
" Happy be ! for fair are ye ! " the gentle singer 

told them. 
But presently a buff-coat Bee came booming up 

to scold them. 
" Vanity, oh, vanity ! 

Young maids, beware of vanity ! " 
Grumbled out the buff-coat Bee, 
Half parson-like, half soldierly. 

The sweet-faced maidens trembled, with pretty, 

pinky blushes, 
Convinced that it was wicked to listen to the 

Thrushes ; 
And when, that shady afternoon, I chanced 

that way to pass, 
They hung their little bonnets down and looked 

into the grass. 
All because the buff-coat Bee 
Lectured them so solemnly : — 
" Vanity, oh, vanity ! 

Young maids, beware of vanity ! " 


Vol. XIII 




By Walter Bodbett. 

Conrad was not a prince, not even a lord ; he- 
was only an ordinary boy. He should have been 
on his way to school ; but, having a talent for do- 
ing nothing, he was wandering about the fields and 
little strips of woodland, amusing himself by watch- 
ing the birds skim through the air. He had lately 
been reading a volume of fairy-tales, and as he 
walked along he began to wonder whether there 
really was a bit of truth in any of them. 

He kept on thinking so intently about it, that he 

resolved to be very respectful, to do just as he was 
bidden, and to wait very patiently for the little old 
man to speak first. 

Presently the little old man shifted the pipe for 
a moment, and asked : 

" What are those books that you are carrying ? " 

"They are my school-books," said Conrad; 
"but I am tired of going to school, and I wish to 
go with the fairies ! " 

The little old man smiled a benevolent smile, 


did not notice how near he was" to a little brook, 
until he found himself almost on the point of tum- 
bling into the water. This put a stop to his won- 
dering, for the next moment he stood staring in 
astonishment, not at the water, but at a little old 
man who was sitting on the roots of a large tree 
that grew on the opposite bank of the stream. He 
was dressed in a very curious fashion. On his 
head he had a tall steeple-crowned hat, in which 
were placed two long peacock's feathers. 

The little old man sat looking very attentively 
at "Conrad, and seemed to derive a great deal of 
comfort from a long pipe, which he was enjoying 
so energetically that all around him the air was 
filled with smoke. At last he beckoned to Con- 
rad, who crossed the stream on a slight plank 
bridge, and advanced toward him. 

By that time, Conrad had leaped to the conclu- 
sion, in his own mind, that the very queer-looking 
old gentleman was an enchanter, and so he had 

and exclaimed : " Oh ! " Then he shifted his pipe 
again, and said quickly: 

" Give me the school-books." 

Conrad did so, at once. 

The little old man then opened a spelling-book, 
and turned to the fly-leaf. 

" Conrad," said he. 

Conrad started, for he wondered how the little 
man had learned his name. He himself had not 
once mentioned it. He was sure now that the 
queer little person was an enchanter. 

" So, Conrad," said the little old man again, 
"you wish to go to the fairies, do you? Well, 
you may go ; but you must leave your books with 
me until you come back." 

Conrad's attention was now attracted by a raven, 
which he saw standing beside the enchanter, and 
which he had not noticed before. 

Turning to the bird, the enchanter said: " Give 
me my key." 



The raven hopped from a large key upon which 
it had been standing, and taking it in its beak, 
presented it to its master. 

Conrad wished to ask if the raven would bite, 

and whether it could do any better trick than carry- 
ing a key ; but he thought this might be considered 
an impertinent question, so he said nothing. 

"Take this key," saidthe little old man, "and be 
careful not to lose it. Walk on until you come to 
the edge of yonder forest; pass straight through the 
wood, and when you arrive at the other side, you will 
behold a castle not far distant. You may find it dif- 
ficult to gain admission ; but you must persevere. 
As to what will happen afterward, I may not tell you 
now. One word more, and then begone ; should 
you ever need my assistance, blow down the key." 

Conrad was so astonished at all he had seen and 
heard, that lie hardly knew what to do ; but as the 
little old man pointed in the direction of the forest, 
Conrad bade him good-day, and walked away to 
follow the orders he had received. 

He kept on until he came to the forest, which 
he entered. It seemed so quiet and dark, that he 
would have been frightened, had he not remem- 
bered that, in case of danger, he could depend on 
assistance from the enchanter. 

At last he reached the end of the wood, and 
about a mile beyond, he saw the castle with its 
gilded dome and all its windows shining in the sun- 
light. This sight cheered him, and he walked on 
till he came to the gateway. He found the great 
gates wide open ; and no one prevented his enter- 
ing, as it happened to be a day on which the King 
received petitions from those of his subjects who 
wished to present any. 

He passed on through the large court-yard, key 
in hand, and instead of going in at the entrance 
to the court, he entered a little side door and as- 
cended a winding stairway. Up he went, higher 
and higher, till it seemed as if the stairway would 
never end, when suddenly he came face to face 
with an official who was descending. 

"What business have you here?" asked the 

Conrad could not answer ; so the man gently 
took hold of his ear and led him down the stairs 

again, varying the monotony of the long descent 
by giving the ear a severe pinch at every seventh 
step. Out through the court-yard they passed, the 
bystanders all cheering and laughing ; out of the 
gate again ; and with one final pinch, the boy was 
left sobbing on the roadway. 

Poor Conrad had, indeed, found it difficult to 
gain admission to the castle. Drying his tears, 
however, he began to walk around the outside of 
the building; until at last he came to a ladder that 
was leaning against a window. 

" The very thing ! " said he ; " it must have been 
left here on purpose for me." 

Up he climbed, slipped in at the window, and 
dropped quietly to the floor. 

He found himself in a large hall, through which 
he walked until he came to an archway at the 
farther end. Before the archway hung an em- 
broidered curtain. Conrad pushed it aside, and 
entered a richly decorated room, at the end of 
which stood a throne. Around it were assembled 
many nobles, pages, and guards, who were await- 
ing the return of the King from hunting. 

Few of them looked at Conrad. Some seemed 
to cast a scornful side-glance at him, and one even 
told him to go back by the way he had come. 
Conrad was not a whit daunted, however, and 
boldly holding up his key, so that every one could 
see it, he walked up to a portly-looking gentle- 
man, who was dressed in black velvet and who 
wore a golden chain around his neck. Conrad 
asked him what he was to do. The portly gen- 
tleman stared at him. Conrad asked if any of the 
company were enchanted ; " because, "said he, "if 
they are, I '11 disenchant them with my key." 

"Enchanted?" said the gentleman in black. 
"What do you mean? Why do you bother me 
about enchantment?" 

Conrad began to feel a little nervous, and to 
think that they did not seem at all like enchanted 
folk; at least, they did not act like any he had 
read about in his books. 

The enchanter had told him that he would meet 
with difficulties, but, despite his confidence, he 
could not help getting very red in the face. And 
by this time, all the gentlemen, except the one 
dressed in black, were smiling. 

Suddenly, Conrad remembered what the little 
old man had said about whistling down the key. 
Happy thought ! He at once rushed up in front of 
the portly gentleman with the black velvet suit and 
the golden chain, and began to whistle in the key 
as hard as he could. 

But, at this performance, the nobles all stopped 
smiling and looked first at one another, and then 
at Conrad, with very grave faces ; one even put 
his hand upon his sword. 




Now, it happened that the gentleman in black 
velvet was a Grand Duke and the Prime Minister 
of the kingdom. At that moment he was thinking 
over some important question of state, and the 
sight of Conrad whistling and caper- 
ing in front of him, just as he was 
settling everything to his own satis- 
faction, made him so angry, that he 
stopped and stared at Conrad, as if 
he couldhave stepped upon him. 
Conrad kept on whistling, 
but the little en- 
• — s> chanter did 

not come. 

picked himself up, he concluded, notwithstanding 
the difficulties he had encountered, that he would 
try once more to gain admission to the castle. So 
he arose and walked toward a door which he saw 
a few paces distant. 

His key fitted the lock perfectly. He pushed 
aside a sliding door, walked in, and passed down 
a stairway, when he found himself in a dark 
cellar. The floor was strewn with boxes and small 
barrels, over which he stumbled, breaking some 
bottles that stood in his way. He began to feel 
frightened, so he climbed to the top of a bar- 
rel, in order to get a glimpse of his position and 
see if he could find his way out to daylight. Sud- 
denly the barrel-head gave way, and before he 
had time to jump off, Conrad fell, up to his knees, 

either be ill or 

very deaf,"thought 

Conrad, and he was 

just making up his 

mind that something 

was wrong, when all doubts on 

subject were removed by the Grand 

Duke, who advanced toward him, picked him up 

by the collar of his jacket, and, carrying him to a 

window, quietly dropped him out. 

Poor Conrad was very much shaken by his 
fall, and for a time was so dazed that he could 
hardly realize what had happened. In a little 
while, he began to collect his thoughts ; but as he 

in some soft powder. He 
struggled to free him- 
self, but only upset the 
barrel and covered him- 
self from 
head to foot 
fine meal. 
At last he 
called for 
and a door, 
that he had 

not noticed 

until then, 
opened, and a girl of about his own age came into 
the cellar, and asked what was the matter. 

"I Ye tumbled into something; please come 
and help me out," cried Conrad. 

She hurried to him, and with her aid he at 
last succeeded in freeing himself. 

After brushing the dust from his hair and 



his clothes, he followed where his new friend led 
the way, and entered a kitchen, thinking that with- 
out doubt he was now in the presence of an en- 
chanted princess, who must have been waiting 
many years for some one to disenchant her. "To 
be sure," thought he. " I am not a prince ; but 
then that does not so much matter; there is no 
telling but I may be one, some day ; " so he decided 
to ask the maiden how she had become enchanted. 

" Beautiful Princess." exclaimed he, and he 

was just attempting a very fine speech in the best 
fairy-story manner, when the young girl laughed, 
and told him to be seated, and asked him if he 
would like to have a pie. Conrad was astonished 
by this question from an enchanted princess ; but, 
without waiting for his reply, the girl walked to- 
ward a table on which stood a number of mince-pies, 
and, taking up one of them, she placed it before 

That was not the way in which an enchanted 
princess was supposed to act ; but as Conrad was 
very hungry, he did not express his surprise, but 
turned his attention to the pie. While he was 
eating, the princess busied herself with beating 
some eggs in a large bowl, and before he knew it, 
Conrad found that he had eaten all the pie. 

Then they talked about the weather and what- 
ever else they happened to think of; and at last, 
Conrad asked her how long she had been en- 

" What ! " exclaimed the princess. 

He repeated his question. 

" Why, what do you mean ? " said she. 

He was just about explaining, when '-tramp, 
tramp, tramp ! " — the noise of feet was heard com- 
ing down the stairs. The princess jumped up, 
and cried : 

" Oh, run ! Run quickly ! I shall be punished 
if they find that I have given you a pie ! " 

"Oh, no," said Conrad ; " do not be frightened! 
I will protect you from them. I came to this 
castle on purpose to rescue you." 

" But I do not want to be rescued ! " said she. 
" Do go, at once ! " 

Tramp, tramp ! Nearer and nearer came the 
sound, — almost to the bottom of the stairs. Con- 
rad felt for his key. 

" Oh, dear ! " he exclaimed, " I must have lost 
my key when I fell into the barrel ! I never noticed 
that I was without it till now. All is lost ! Adieu, 
good Princess ! " 

" Good-bye," said she ; " only go ! " 

He jumped upon a table, and climbed out of the 

window. It was all that was left for him to do. 
After he was outside of the building, he turned, 
and waving his hand to the princess, begged her 
to remember him. 

'" I will come back to you, if I ever get my key 
again," he said ; " and then I '11 disenchant you." 

At that moment the kitchen door opened, and 
Conrad saw a great light. It might have been a 
bull's-eye lantern, but Conrad was sure that it was 
a dragon that was pointing its fiery eye at him. 

" Oh, the poor princess ! " said he. " If only I 
had my key ! " 

Then, as the light flashed full at him, he be- 
came so frightened that he turned and ran for the 
gate as hard as he could. He made his way across 
the courtyard much faster than when he had come 
in, and soon he had left the castle far behind. 
The houses began to be farther apart and to have 
a more rustic appearance. He heard a cart com- 
ing along the road. 

" Please give me a ride ! " he cried to the driver. 

" Yes, I will," said the man ; "jump in." And 
Conrad clambered into the cart. 

" You look tired," said the driver. " Lie down 
on that blanket and rest yourself." 

Conrad gladly did as he was told and, feeling 
much fatigued after his adventures, he was soon 
fast asleep. 

He did not awake until he felt himself carried 
out of the cart, and was just enough awake to know 
that all the inmates of his father's house, together 
with a few of the neighbors, were crowding about 
and asking him where he had been. And that 
was all he noticed, for the next moment he was 
off to sleep again, and was carried upstairs and 
put to bed. 

He did not feel very well the next morning, so 
the doctor was called in, who advised that he 
should remain in the house for a few days, as he 
had a slight fever. 

While at home, he told his aunt what had hap- 
pened to him; but she only patted his head, and 
told him that he must have been dreaming. But 
this Conrad refused to believe. 

When he recovered, however, he became a much 
better boy, more quiet and attentive to his studies ; 
and it may be mentioned that, whenever any one 
told a fairy-tale, he wore a very solemn face, took 
a back seat, and said nothing. 

It is not known whether he still believes in fairies ; 
but one thing is certain — he never saw the little 
old enchanter again, nor the school-books that he 
had left with him. 




By L. E. R. 

Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees, 
Pink and white drifting of petals sweet ! 
Kiss her and crown her our Lady of Blossoming, 
There as she sits on the apple-tree sweet ! 

Has she not gathered the summer about her? 
See how it laughs from her lips and her eyes ! 
Think you the sun there would shine on with- 
out her ? 
Nay ! 'Tis her smile keeps the gray from the skies ! 

Fire of the rose, and snow of the jessamine, 

Gold of the lily-dust hid in her hair ; 

Day holds his breath and Night comes up to 

look at her, 
Leaving their strife for a vision so rare. 

Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees, 
Pink and white drifting of petals sweet ! 
Kiss her, and crown her, and flutter adown her, 
And carpet the ground for her dear little feet ! 

By Alice May. 

Early one morning, a palanquin carried by 
native bearers, and containing as passengers Mr. 
Steedman, an English missionary, and his little son 
Harry, was proceeding up the one street of Bifo- 
rana, a queer little bamboo village on the island 
of Madagascar, situated about midway between 
Antananarivo, the capital, and the eastern coast. 

Comparatively little is known of Madagascar, 
although the unsuccessful attempt of France to 
obtain possession of it drew interest and attention 
to it not many months ago. There are but two 
larger islands in the world. As many of you know, 
it lies some two hundred and fifty miles to the 
east of the African coast, is nine hundred and 




eighty miles long and two hundred and fifty wide, 
and is therefore nearly four times as large as 
England and Wales combined. 

The Queen of this island king- 
dom is a young woman with the 
curious name of Rasendranovo 
Ranavalo III. She succeeded to 
the throne in 18S3. She is a 
Christian, as is also a large part of 
the population of her realm ; and 
there are numerous missionary 
stations throughout the island. 

Harry Steedman's father was 
one of these missionaries, and 
Harry himself was accustomed 
to traveling by palanquin, since 
there are no roads nor carriages 
to be found in Madagascar. 

The palanquin was an oblong 
basket of bamboo, lined with 
plaited sheepskin. The ends of the long 
poles or handles rested upon the shoulders 
of four Madagascan bearers, while four others ac- 
companied these as a relay. Under the palanquin 

and so, out of the village, and through the swamp 
of Biforana, the procession moved until the mire 



hood of woven palm-cloth, Mr. Stecdman reclined 
comfortably, while Harry nestled cozily at his feet ; 

so thick 

that the &>*« 

quin could not be 
carried with ease. 
As the next best 
mode of conveyance, the two passengers were then 
transferred to the shoulders of two stout natives. 

Mr. Steedman had started upon an expedition in 
search of the beautiful lace-leaf plant, or water- 
yam, of Madagascar, which he was told grew in the 
forests beyond Biforana, and which he was very 
desirous of finding in its native state. Harry, af- 
ter urgent solicitation, had been allowed to accom- 
pany his father ; but, as he clung to the neck of his 
swarthy bearer, the little fellow found that there 
was not, after all, so much fun in the trip as he 
had expected. And later on, when the palanquin, 
in which they were soon seated again, was tossed 
and bumped by the slipping and stumbling of the 
bearers as they climbed a very steep hill-side, he 
began almost to wish himself at home. 

After passing a grove of the stately palms known 
as the "traveler's tree," they found themselves on 
a path that led to the bank of a river. They 
endeavored to ford it, but speedily found that 
the danger from deep holes and ugly-looking croc- 
odiles was too great for them to proceed. So 
Raheh, the chief bearer, uttered a curious cry, or 
signal, which soon brought into view a lakana, or 
canoe, rudely fashioned from a hollow tree-trunk; 
and in it a native was paddling rapidly toward them. 

Harry and his father stepped into the rather 
shaky-looking craft not without misgivings, but 




they were soon safely landed on the other shore. 
When all had been thus ferried across and the 


native boatman had been paid, the party entered 
the great forest of Alamazaotra, which covers more 
than forty miles of wild and mountainous country. 

Their path at once led them through a gorge so 
narrow that the sides of the palanquin grazed the 
rocky walls, and the masses of tangled foliage, 
meeting far above their heads, almost entirely ob- 
scured the light. The bearers paused for breath 
after climbing the steep ascent that led from this 
gloomy pass, and Harry and his father exclaimed 
in wonder at the strange beautv of the wild trop- 
ical forest. 

Gigantic palms upheld around their stately heads 
a leafy dome closely interlaced by clinging vines. 
Long garlands of moss and climbing plants crossed 
and recrossed this lofty roof, and from its shadowy- 
arches great masses of gray moss hung suspended. 

Here and there among the cool green and gray tints 
of leaves and moss some tropical flowers and fruits 
gleamed forth in bright 
flashes of scarlet and gold. 
Myriads of frail wood- 
blossoms hid their f>ale 
heads under the feathery 
ferns that clustered about 
the roots of the trees, and the 
dead palms were tenderly 
shrouded in waxy-leaved 
climbing vines, their grace- 
ful fallen crowns replaced 
by masses of green ferns, 
intermingled with the faint 
pink and blue tints of some 
rare orchid. On every side 
were little groves of bam- 
boo, — their light-green 
fringes contrasting with the 
darker fronds of the stately 

Absolute silence reigned 
throughout this solitude, 
and Harry began to be so 
oppressed by the stillness 
as to grow fearful of danger. 
But his father explained 
that during the wet season, 
in which they were travel- 
ing, insect life in these trop- 
ical forests is asleep, and 
Harry himself knew that 
there were but few wild 
animals in Madagascar. In- 
deed, with the exception of 
that curious animal, part 
fox, part squirrel, and part 
monkey, that is peculiar to 
Madagascar and is called, 
from its prowling habits and ghostly appearance, 
the lemur, or " ghostly visitor," the great island 
possesses no large native quadrupeds. The hump- 
backed African cattle and the singular fat-tailed 
sheep, now common throughout the island, were 
not originally found in Madagascar, but were taken 
over from Africa. 

The bearers of the palanquin clambered on, 
now over steep and moss-covered rocks, now cross- 
ing sluggish streams on slippery stepping-stones, 
or sliding down precipices, until poor Harry was so 
rattled and shaken and tossed and tumbled that he 
declared he did n't know his head from his heels. 

But, at last, a break occurred in the long stretch 
of rock and forest, and as the bearers paused upon 
a piece of level ground, for a moment's rest, Raheh 
suddenly uttered the joyful cry of "rano/ " (water). 



and all, on listening, distinguished the sound uf a 
rushing stream. 

Urged on by Raheh, the bearers pushed ahead, 
and soon stood upon the banks of a beautiful river, 
dashing merrily along over rocks and fallen trees, 
until with a leap it disappeared in the shadows of 
the vast forest. Upon the farther side was grouped 
a little village of the clay huts belonging to the 
friendly Hovas, and beyond the village stretched 
green fields of waving rice. The "Hovas" are 
the governing race in the island, and are the most 
civilized. Their capital city of Antananarivo, in 
the center of the island, is a well-built city of over 
100,000 inhabitants. 

A tree had fallen across the stream, with its 
head resting upon the opposite bank, and this 
natural bridge was entirely covered with pink, blue 
and white flowers of the waxy orchid. This beau- 
tiful sight, however, was unnoticed by Harry and 
his father, for in the water at their feet was the 
object of their search, the Lattice or Lace leaf. 

The lace-leaf plant, or fresh water-yam as it is 
sometimes called because of its potato-shaped or 
yam-like root, is found in many of the rivers of 
Madagascar. The difficulty of obtaining it, how- 
ever, makes it a rare plant to Europeans; and 
when, a few days before, Mr. Steedman had rec- 
ognized in some "roasted potatoes," as Harrv 

the beautiful forest river. As soon as they recog- 
nized it, both Mr. Steedman and his son were on 
the ground in an instant, and bending eagerly- 
above the clear stream. The water was so pure 
and limpid that every pebble could be counted, 
and in the cool, bright current they saw, to their 
delight, a perfect labyrinth of lace-work. Dozens 
of lace-leaves, green, gold, olive, and brown, were 
floating just beneath the surface of the water. 

"Oh. Papa! did you ever see anything so 
lovely ? " said Harry, excitedly. 

Mr. Steedman could take but a one-sided view 
of those wonderful leaves, as one glass from his 
spectacles had been lost during their rough jour- 
ney; but the remaining glass fairly sparkled with 

"Ah, my son, this plant is both lovely and rare. 
See, the young leaves are light green and yel- 
low; the older leaves are darker, — shades of green 
and olive. A few are even black, and all growing 
from the same root. How perfect is every leaf, in 
spite of its delicate texture ! Some of those larger 
leaves must be ten or twelve inches long. The 
strong midrib in each serves as a support for 
the fragile threads forming the meshes on each 

Harry now plunged his hand into the lace-like 
web, half expecting it to dissolve in his grasp. But 


called the pleasant-tasting vegetable that one of 
his boyish Madagascan friends had given him to eat, 
the edible root of the lace-leaf plant, the missionary 
had determined to make a careful search for the 
plant so prized by naturalists. And now at last 
he had found it, bobbing backward and forward in 
a fantastic dance just above the eddying waters of 

no ! The wiry little yellow leaf which he raised 
from the water, was perfect in form, and a gleam of 
sunlight, falling upon the shining meshes, 'rans- 
formed them into threads of glistening gold. 

He now discovered, as he examined them 
carefully, that the under surfaces of the leaves 
were "listening with little nearly bubbles of air. 




m i 


" Oh, Papa," he cried, joyously holding the glis- 
tening meshes aloft, "the lace-leaves are jeweled ! " 

" Yes, Harry," said his father, " those diamond 
drops are made by the breathing of the plant." 

Mr. Steedman attempted to detach a root of one 
of the plants from its bed of mud, but the little 
tendrils branching from it on every side held the 
root firmly in its place. At last he succeeded in 
extricating the little white threads, one by one, 
and removed the entire plant to the bank. Its 
root, which is eaten in Madagascar, was very like 
the ginger root, and had a tough, light-brown 

Harry carefully placed the leaves of the plant 
in his herbarium, while his father packed the 
root, with its native soil, in a tin case, prepa- 
ratory to sending it to the Botanical Society in 

" Harry," he said, as they finished their work, 
" this plant could be easily reared in our green- 
houses — heat and moisture being all that is 
required. But nature seems to have jealously 
surrounded these beautiful leaves with almost 
impassable barriers, and the lace-plant is compar- 
atively unknown. 

" But come, my boy Raheh says ' maly-massan- 
dro ' (the sun is dead), and it will be as long as 
' two cookings of rice ' (two half hours) before we 
can be ferried across to yonder village and secure 
a place to pass the night." 

And so, after Raheh had given Harry one last 
drink from the clear, cool river, in the odd-looking 
leaf-cup he carried for the purpose, the tired but 
successful lace-leaf hunters crossed over to the 
Hova village and were soon fast asleep. 


By M. A. 

One of the most remarkable plants in the whole 
vegetable kingdom is that known to botanists as 
the Justicia Picia, which has also been well named 
" The Caricature Plant." 

At first sight, it appears to be a heavy, large- 
leafed plant, with purple blossoms, chiefly remark- 
able for the light-yellow centers of its dark-green 
leaves, which cause them to look as if some acid 
had been spilled upon them and taken the color 
out wherever it had touched. 

As I stood looking at this odd plant and thinking 
what a sickly, blighted appearance the queer, yel- 
low stains gave it, I was suddenly impressed with 
the fact that the plant was " making faces " at me. 
Still, unaccustomed as I was to seeing plants 

indulge in this strictly human amusement, I was 
slow to believe it, and stooped to read the some- 
what illegible inscription on the card below the 
plant — "Justicia Pic/a, or 'Caricature Plant.'" 
My first impression was correct then. This curious 
shrub had indeed occupied itself in growing up in 
ridiculous caricatures of the " human face divine," 
until it now stood, covered from the topmost leaf 
down, with the queerest faces imaginable. Nature 
had taken to caricaturing. The flesh-colored pro- 
files stood out in strong relief against the dark- 
green of the leaves. 

A discovery of one of these vegetable marks 
leads to an examination of a second and a third leaf, 
until all are scanned as closely and curiously as the 



leaves of the comic papers that form the caricature 
plants of the literary kingdom. 

What a valuable plant this would be for one of 
our professional caricaturists to have growing in 
his conservatory ! When an order was sent to him 
for a " speaking likeness" of some unhappy poli- 
tician, he could simply visit his Justicia Picta with 
pencil and paper in hand, and look over the leaves 
for a suitable squint, grin, or distorted nose to 
sketch from. He could, moreover, affirm with truth 
that the portrait was " taken from nature." Cuth- 
bert Collingwood, the celebrated naturalist, says 
of the Justicia Picta: "One of these plants in the 
garden of Gustave Dore would be worth a fortune 
to him, supplying him with a never-failing fund 
of grotesque physiognomies, from which he might 
illustrate every serio-comic romance ever written." 
I have never heard of the cultivation of the Cari- 
cature Plant in this country ; but botanists tell us 
that it is a hardy shrub. I think we should be glad 
to see the funny faces on its leaves. After all the 
lovely flowers we are called upon to admire, I am 
sure that a plant evidently intended to make us 
laugh would receive a warm welcome from our 
young people. 

The Chinese appreciate the Caricature Plant, 
and in some parts of China it is quite extensively 
cultivated. Perhaps some of the funny, grinning 
faces on Chinese toys and ornaments are repro- 
ductions of the grotesque features on the leaves of 
the plant. 

Finally, I must assure any unbelieving readers of 
St. Nicholas that neither in this account of a 
very remarkable plant, nor in the accompanying 
illustration, has the writer drawn upon imagination. 

The Justicia Picta really exists. It is a native 
of the East Indies, and is a source of much amuse- 
ment and curiosity to both botanists and travelers. 

By C. J. Russell. 

About two hundred years ago the governor of 
the island of Jamaica, Sir Thomas Lynch, sent 
to King Charles II. of England a vegetable neck- 
tie, and a very good necktie it was, although it 
had grown on a tree and had not been altered 
since it was taken from the tree. It was as soft 
and white and delicate as lace, and it is not sur- 
prising that the King should have expressed his 
doubts when he was told that the beautiful fabric 
had grown on a tree in almost the exact condition 
in which he saw it. It had been stretched a little, 
and that was all. 

But if King Charles was astonished to learn that 
neckties grew on trees in Jamaica, what must have 
been the feelings of a stranger traveling in Cen- 
tral America, on being told that mosquito-nets 
grew on trees in that country ? He had complained 
to his host that the mosquitoes had nearly eaten 
him up the night before, and had been told in re- 
sponse that he should have a new netting put over 
his bed. 

Satisfied with this statement, the traveler was 
turning away, but his attention was arrested by 
his host's calmly continuing, "in fact, we are go- 




ing to strip a tree anyhow, because there is to be a 
wedding on the estate, and we wish to have a dress 
ready for the bride." 


" You don't mean," said the traveler incredu- 
lously, "that mosquito-netting and bridal dresses 
grow on trees, do you ? " 

" That is just what I mean," replied his host. 
" All right," said the stranger, who fancied a 
joke was being attempted at his expense, " let me 
see you gather the fruit and I 
will believe you." 

" Certainly," was the answer; 
"follow the men, and you will 
see that I speak the exact truth." 

Still looking for some jest, the 
stranger followed the two men 
who were to pluck the singular 
fruit, and stood by when they 
stopped at a rather small tree, 
bearing thick, glossy-gree n leaves, 
but nothing else which the utmost 
effort .of the imagination could 
convert into the netting or the 
wedding garments. The tree was 
about twenty feet high and six 
inches in diameter, and its bark 
looked much like that of a birch- 

" Is this the tree? " asked the 

" Yes, sefior," answered one of 
the men, with a smile. 

" I don't see the mosquito- 
netting nor the wedding-dress," 
said the stranger, "and I can't 
see any joke either." 

" If the sefior will wait a few 
minutes he will see all that was 
promised, and more too," was 
the reply. " He will see that this 
tree can bear not only mosquito- 
netting and wedding-dresses, but 
fish-nets and neck-scarfs, mourn- 
ing crape or bridal veils." 

The tree was without more ado 
cut down. Three strips of bark, 
each about six inches wide and 
eight feet long, were taken from 
the trunk and thrown into a 
stream of water. Then each man 
took a strip while it was still in 
the water, and with the point of 
his knife separated a thin layer 
of the inner bark from one end 
of the strip. This layer was then 
taken in the fingers and gently 
pulled, whereupon it came away 
in an even sheet of the entire 
width and length of the strip of 
bark. Twelve sheets were thus 
taken from each strip of bark, and thrown into the 

A light broke in upon the stranger's mind. 

l886. ' 



Without a doubt these strips were to be sewn to- 
gether into one sheet. The plan seemed a good 
one and the fabric thus formed might do, he 
thought, if no better cloth could be had. 

The men were not through yet, however, for 
when each strip of bark had yielded its twelve 
sheets, each sheet was taken from the water and 
gradually stretched sidewise. The spectator could 
hardly believe his eyes. The sheet broadened and 
broadened until from a close piece of material six 
inches wide, it became a filmy cloud of delicate lace, 
over three feet in width. The astonished gentle- 
man was forced to confess that no human-made 
loom ever turned out lace which could surpass in 
snowy whiteness and gossamer-like delicacy that ■ 
product of nature. 

The natural lace is not so regular in formation 
as the material called illusion, so much worn 
by ladies in summer ; but it is as soft and white, 
and will bear washing, which is not true of illusion. 

In Jamaica and Central America, this wonderful lace 
is put to all the uses mentioned by the native to our 
traveler, and to more uses besides. In fact, among 
the poorer people it supplies the place of manufact- 
ured cloth, which they can not afford to buy ; and 
the wealthier classes do not by any means scorn it 
for ornamental use. 

Long before the white man found his way to 
this part of the world, the Indians had known and 
used this vegetable cloth; so that what was so 
new and wonderful to King Charles and Governor 
Sir Thomas Lynch was an old story to the natives. 
Some time after King Charles received his vege- 
table necktie, Sir Hans Sloane, whose art-collec- 
tion and library were the foundation of the British 
Museum, visited Jamaica. He described the tree 
fully, and was the first person who told the civilized 
world about it. The tree is commonly called the 
lace-bark tree. Its botanical name is Lagctto 







By John R. Coryell. 

One cold winter night, not long ago, I took pity 
on a poor little dejected-looking yellow puppy, 
and invited him into my house. Having once 
taken him in, it was quite out of the question to 
think of turning him out again. I was not afraid 
that I might be robbing anybody, for he was 
the kind of dog that very few persons care to 
have. He was dirty-yellow in color, very lank of 
body, and he seemed to be made up of ill-assorted 
parts of different kinds of dogs. His legs, partic- 
ularly, seemed intended for some other dog and 
acted as if they never would become reconciled to 
carrying the queer body to which they were joined. 

I should have preferred a handsome dog, but 
since I had no choice, I determined to do my 
duty by the little outcast, and to give him such 
an education that in the beauties of his mind the 
ugliness of his body would be overlooked. 

The first thing needed for him was a name; and 
I tried to think of something appropriate, but soon 
gave it up, and in default of a better title called 
him Bob. To teach him the name was easy. 1 
merely called out the word "Bob!" every time 
I fed him. As it was important that he should learn 
to look to me as the source of all his happiness and 
instruction, I permitted no one else to feed him. 
It took him about a week to learn his name, and 
to recognize the fact that all the blandishments he 
could lavish on the cook would be of no avail, 
and that his only hope was in me. 

At the very outset, I had made up my mind that 
under no circumstances should he receive angry 
words or blows. He was a broken-spirited, affec- 
tionate little puppy, and I was resolved that if there 
was no way of teaching him except by brutality, 
he should remain ignorant all his life. The abject 
way in which, to this day, he runs from a child 
makes me feel sad. I fancy that much of his early 
life was spent in dodging stones or snowballs thrown 
by boys — not cruel, but thoughtless boys. 

It was necessary to control him, and I quickly 
discovered an easy way. He was such a sensitive 
little fellow that when he once learned to love me, 
he seemed to know by the tones of my voice 
whether I was pleased with him, and to have me 
pleased seemed to be the one object of his life. 
Therefore, if I saw him doing anything wrong, I 
had only to say sharply and firmly, " No, Bob ! " 
and down would go the tail and ears, and he 

would slink shame-facedly to his special corner 
and from there watch me until I would call him 
to me and pat his head. 

After a while, a quiet " No, Bob !" would effect 
the same result. This was a great victory, and 
made most of the subsequent teaching merely a 
matter of patience. 

The first real lesson was when I undertook to 
make him sit up. If he had only known what I 
wished him to do, he would gladly have done 
it; but the words " Sit up ! " meant nothing to 
him. He was almost too willing, for when I took 
hold of him to put him into a sitting position, he 
became as limp as a wet rag, and seemed to be 
trying to put himself into a condition to be twisted 
into any shape I chose. 

Then I put him into a corner and set him up, 
saying continually, " Sit up! Sit up!" I held him 
up for a while and then took my hand away, but 
at once he collapsed as if all the stiffening had 
suddenly left his back-bone. Then I showed him 
a piece of sugar, of which he was very fond, and 
immediately he was himself again. Once more, 
and many times more, I put him in position in 
the corner, until at last, seemingly by accident, he 
failed to fall over when I took my hand away. I 
did not tax his endurance, but at once gave him 
the sugar. 

It took him about three days to grasp the idea 
that " sit up ! " meant a special performance, and 
that to achieve it meant a lump of sugar. Then I 
put him through the same process in the middle 
of the room. He missed the support of the wall 
at first, and fell over; whereupon he looked fool- 
ish. One fact was evidently firmly fixed in his 
mind, however, — the fact that there was sugar to 
be had if only he could do as I wished him to do. 
All the time that he was struggling for balance, 
he kept his eye on the lump of sugar, which I had 
on the floor beside me. Finally that lesson was 
learned, and he could sit up if I would put him in 
position. He knew, too, what " sit up !" meant. 

After that, I would not feed him until he had 
first sat up; but it was a long time before he 
gained sufficient confidence in himself to sit up 
without help. At first I helped him up by both 
paws ; then I helped by holding only one paw ; 
then I merely touched one paw ; then I only mo- 
tioned, as if about to touch the paw; and finally 
I simply said, " Sit up ! " 

I think Bob reasoned this all out in his own 
mind and concluded that there must be some 
strange and beautiful power in the words "sit 



up ! " for he could see that whenever he did it, he 
had something to eat. I am obliged to confess 
that Bob loved to eat; and after he had learned to 
sit up, he was inclined to perform the feat morn- 
ing, noon, and night, and it was, of course, impos- 
sible to make him go away without first giving 
him a morsel, however small, of food. 

Lessons in standing up, walking and waltzing 
followed, and they were all easily taught. In 
teaching him anything, I was always careful to 


associate the action required of him with certain 
words. Standing, walking on his hind legs, and 
waltzing were always "stand up!" "walk!" 
" waltz about ! " I never taught him more than 
one thing at a time, so that there should be no 
possibility of his misunderstanding the meaning 
of the word or words used. 

In teaching him to stand up, I first made him 
sit; then by holding a piece of sugar over his head, 
I induced him to stand erect, — while I kept re- 
peating, " Stand up ! " " Stand up ! " After he had 
learned this lesson, I made him first sit, then stand. 

and then, by going from him and saying "Walk ! " 
I made him follow me until he understood the con- 
nection between the words and the action, even 
when I was at the other end of the room. I taught 
him to "waltz" by making him go around and 
around after a piece of sugar held over his head 
when he was standing up. 

To make him go to his corner and lie down, 
without hurting his feelings, was difficult. If I said 
sharply, "Go to your corner and lie down!" he 
would go; but he would feel so badly that he 
could not play for half an hour. But by repeat- 
ing the command in gradually softening tones 
and by giving him a 'piece of sugar each time, he 
eventually learned that he was not thereby in 

Seeing, however, how a sharp word would make 
his ears and tail droop, I took advantage of this 
fact, and whenever he had done wrong I would 
always say "Naughty!" a dozen times over, until 
at last I had only to whisper " Naughty!" — and 
down would go those ensigns in a moment. On 
the other hand, if I said "Good dog!" he was 
immediately on the alert, ears up, head cocked to 
one side, and tail wagging, ready for any kind of 

After he had learned to walk, I taught him to go 
slowly when I said " like a gentleman ! " and 
quickly when I said "like a schoolboy!" To 
teach him these things required patience princi- 
pally ; but I found that to teach him some things 
taxed my ingenuity as well. 

I wished him to speak both softly and loudly; 
but how to make him do it puzzled me. For Bob 
seldom barked except when engaged in uproarious 
play, and at such times he was not susceptible to 
instruction. One day, however, he had been play- 
ing with a little rubber ball, running after it and 
bringing it to me until I was tired, a condition in 
which he never seemed to be. 

To stop the game I put my foot on the ball, and 
picked up a book to read. Bob waited a few 
moments to see what I was going to do, and find- 
ing I was not going to play, tried to push my foot 
away with his nose. Failing in that, he pulled 
with one paw. That also failed, and Bob was 
puzzled. He retired a few steps, placed his head 
between his forepaws on the floor and looked at 
me. I pretended not to see him, curious to know 
what he would do. He remained perfectly still 
for nearly a minute, and then, as if determined to 
attract my attention somehow, he barked. 

There was my clew; I gave him the ball at once. 
In a few moments I again placed my foot on the 
ball, and waited until I saw he was about to bark, 
when I said, "Shout! Shout!" He barked, and 
I gave him the ball. I repeated this several times 




a day, and day after day, until he learned to bark 
whenever he wanted the ball and I said " Shout ! " 
Then I made him shout for his meals, and fi- 
nally, he would "shout" whenever I told him to 
do so. 

To make him speak softly, I took advantage of 






a fashion he had of whining when he wished to go 
into the yard for a frolic. I would go to the door 
and say, "Want to go out?" Bob would at once 
respond by preparing to rush out the moment the 
door was opened. Then I would say, " Speak 
softly!" and keep repeating the words until he 


whined. After a while he would whine the mo- 
ment I said, " Speak softly ! " 

Another thing that I taught him was to fall down 

and lie motionless when I said, "Dead!" This 

I accomplished by taking hold of his forefeet in one 

hand and his hindfeet in the other, and suddenly 

dropping him on his side on the 

floor, as Isaid the word "Dead!" 

several times. 

At first, Bob thought I was play- 
ing some new game with him, and 
prepared for a good time, but I 
had only to say "No!" to him 
to make him sedate at once. By 
this time he had learned that 
when I repeated a thing several 
times, it was because he was to 
learn something; and the little 
fellow really seemed to try to un- 
derstand what I wished him to do. 
After I had pulled his feet from 
under him a number of times, and 
had made him lie still until I said, 
"Alive ! " I tried tapping a hind- 
foot and a forefoot, at the same 
time saying " Dead ! " He was a 
long time learning this trick; and 
several times when I thought he 
had learned to do it when I sim- 
ply tapped his feet, I was obliged 
to go back and pull his feet from 
under him. In time, however, he 
learned to fall the moment I 
touched the side of one hindfoot. 
From that to motioning at the 
foot, and finally, merely saying 
" Dead !" the progress was quick. 
To make him jump up, I always 
said "Alive!" 

To make him go "lame" was 
very easy. I tied a long string 
to one forefoot, and by saying, 
" Lame ! " and at the same time 
making him walk, while I pre- 
vented him from putting the tied 
foot down, he soon learned to go 
on three legs. 

One of the funniest things he 

learned to do was to take his piece 

of carpet, shake it well, and put it 

back in its place. It was through 

an accident that I thought of teaching him to do 

this. I had been accustomed to shake out his 

carpet in the yard every morning. One morning 

I threw it on the grass to air. In a moment Bob 

had it in his mouth and was worrying it, shaking 

it, and growling. He was playing, but I saw that 





I could teach him something, and at once said, 
" Make your bed ! " By repeating this, morning 
after morning, he at last learned to pick up his 
carpet, carry it out into the yard, shake it, and 
carry it back. I could never teach him to lay it 
down properly, however ; he seemed to think it 
was as good in a heap as if nicely smoothed out. 

After 1 had taught Bob a number of tricks, I de- 
termined to write a play for him. I do not believe 
that any human actor ever had audiences more 
appreciative than his, when he per- 
formed in his " play." His little 
friends were always ready to give him 
sugar by the handful if I did not in- 
terfere, and Bob was always ready 
to take all that was offered. The 
"play" was nothing more than a 
simple little story into which were 
introduced the words which I used 
in commanding him to perform his 
various tricks. I would repeat the 
story, and when I came to a word 
of command, such as "dead," I 
would emphasize it so that Bob 
would at once do whatever he had 
been taught to do at the sound of 
that word. The play I wrote was 
about as follows : — 

"Once upon a time there was a 
little dog named Bob [here Bob would 
run to me, and wait expectantly]. 
Usually he was a very good dog [wag, 
wag, would go his tail], but once in a 
while he was very naughty [down 
would drop ears and tail]. When he 
was a good dog [happy again], he 
would sit up and show any little boy 
or girl how to behave. At such 
times, he would speak softly [pro- 
longed whine], as a polite dog should, 
though once in a while he would be- 
come excited, and shout, shout, shout 
[furious barking], as impolite chil- 
dren are sometimes apt to do. 

" When a lady entered the room where he was, 
he would always stand up, ready to give her his 
chair if she wished it ; or if she preferred to go 
into the garden or the street, he would go with 
her and walk like a gentleman. When he played, 
however, he could run like a schoolboy. But once 
he was in the ball-room, he could waltz about as 
well as the best dancer there. 

"'' If any one ever said to him, 'go to your corner 
and lie dozen,' he would do so at once like the 
well bred dog he was. But he was always obedi- 
ent and would come immediately as soon as one 
said Bob. 

Vol. XIII. — 34. 

" I was very sorry to hear one day that this re- 
markable dog was dead. I felt so badly that I 
went to his house, but was pleasantly surprised 
when I reached there, to find that he was very 
much alive." 

What will be the limit of Bob's education I do 
not know, for he continues to learn with increasing 
ease every day. In addition to all that has been de- 
scribed, he can now, at the proper order of com- 
mand, sneeze, catch a piece of meat from his nose 


at the word "three," jump over a cane, turn a 
somersault, and play tag. 

By E. P. Roe. 

Old Fetch was a shepherd dog and lived in the 
Highlands of the Hudson. His master kept nearly 
a dozen cows, and they ranged at will among the 
hills during the clay. When the sun was low in 
the west, his master would say to his dog, " Bring 
the cows home"; and it was because the dog did 




this task so well, that he was called Fetch. He 
would run to a flat rock and hold his ear down close 
to it, having learned that he could thus catch the far- 
off tinkle of the cow-bells better than in any other 
way. If he could not hear them he would range 
about until he did, and then he was off like a shot 
in the direction of the sound. 

One sultry day he departed as usual upon his 
evening task. From scattered, shady, and grassy 
nooks, he at last gathered all the cattle into a 
mountain road, leading to the distant barnyard. 

Switching off the flies with their tails, the cows 
jogged slowly homeward, the tinkle of their bells 
gradually becoming more and more distinct to the 
milkmaid who was awaiting them. One of the 
cows was known to be a little perverse, and on that 
evening she gave fresh evidence of willfulness. 
One part of the road ran through a low, moist spot 
bordered by a thicket of black alder, and into this 
the cow pushed her way, and stood quietly. The 
others passed on, followed some distance in the 
rear by Fetch. He was panting from his exertions 
in the hot evening, his tongue lolling from his 
mouth as he slowly and languidly pursued his way. 

Indeed he had quite discarded his usual vigi- 
lance, and the perverse cow took advantage of it. 

As the cows approached the barnyard gate, he 
quickened his pace, and hurried forward, as if to 
say, " I 'm here, attending to business." But his 
complacency was disturbed as the cows filed 
through the gate. He whined a little, and growled 
a little, attracting his master's attention. Then 
he went to the high fence surrounding the yard, 
and standing on his hindfeet peered between two 
of the rails. After looking at the herd carefully 
for a time, he started off down the road again 
on a full run. His master now observed that one 
of the cows was missing, and he sat down on a rock 
to see what Fetch was going to do about it 
Before very long he heard the furious tinkling of a 
bell, and soon Fetch appeared bringing in the per- 
verse cow at a rapid pace, hastening her on by 
frequently leaping up and catching her ear in his 
teeth. The gate was again thrown open, and the 
cow, shaking her head from the pain of the dog's 
rough reminders, was led through it in a way that 
she did not soon forget. Fetch looked after her a 
moment with the air of one remarking to himself, 
" You '11 not try that trick again," and then he lay 
down quietly to cool off in time for supper. 


A recent English writer tells the following story 
of an ingenious sheep-dog that, when the flock 
took a wrong road, would turn them back with- 
out worrying them. His owner had hesitated for 

some time before he made up his mind to have a 
dog, as he had often seen dogs ill-use the poor 
sheep. But believing that in most cases the 
dogs' harshness toward the sheep was due to bad 
training, and not to their naturally evil dispo- 
sitions, he resolved to make trial of one. The 
dog he procured was young ; and he trained it 
after his own ideas. He soon found the docile 
creature a very useful helper in driving a flock 
from one pasture to another. The sheep often 
took a wrong turn, and then scampered off as 
fast as they could go. At such times, most 
shepherds who had dogs were accustomed to send 
the dog after the flock, at the top of its speed. 
Of course, it soon overtook them, but the sheep 
were often much frightened, and not infrequently 
hurt by falling down or by rushing against one 
another. To prevent this, the shepherd mentioned 
would order his dog " Smart " to go to the other 
side of the hedge, saying, " Now, go ahead, and 
bring 'em back ! " Smart would promptly obey, 
and would noiselessly run along behind the hedge, 
sometimes even climbing a little slope by the road- 
way, whence he could overlook the flock and see just 
where each sheep was moving. As soon as Smart, 
by peeping over or through the hedge, had satis- 
fied himself that he was ahead of all the sheep, he 
would come coolly out of the hedge and bring them 
back down the lane so gently as not to cause them 
the least alarm. Smart never attempted to get 
ahead of a flock in the way common to most of the 
dogs in that vicinity, — by rushing past them and 
frightening them ; but looking at his master and 
wagging his tail, he would cross the hedge, over- 
take them, and quietly drive them back into the 
right road. 


By Charlotte M. Yaile. 

There they were hanging, one of them out 
of sight in the cool, deep water, and the other 
swinging empty in the sunshine, as Daisy Hadley 
and her dog Bruno came up to the well. The 
little girl and the big dog had been rambling 
about all the morning, following the brook through 
fields of sunflowers and poppies, or climbing the 
rocks on the sides of the mountains ; but they 
were tired and thirsty now, and Daisy looked wist- 
fully at the empty bucket, wishing she were strong 
enough to pull it down and bring the other, full 
and dripping, up in its place. 

" Bruno," she said reproachfully, "I wish you 
could draw me some water." Bruno was a great, 
shaggy Newfoundland, that had been Daisy's play- 
mate ever since she could remember. He was a 




wonderful dog. Daisy herself would have told 
you that there were only a few things he could not 
do, but unfortunately managing that well was one 
of them. So there was no help for it, and Daisy 
was turning reluctantly away when she caught sight 
of Mr. Paul Gregg, One of the other summer board- 
ers in the Park. 

If he had not come up just then, there would have 
been no story to tell, and the buckets might have 
gone up and down in the well to this day without 

taking part in any more remarkable event. But he 
(&/come up ; and Daisy's face brightened, for they 
were great friends, though she was only a little 
girl in the Kindergarten, and he was a tall young 
student. He stopped when Daisy said she wanted 
some water ; and putting down his botanical box, 
he began to draw some gloves over his rather soft 

"I don't like this kind of a well at all," said 
Daisy. " It isn't half as nice as the one at my 




grandfather's. That had only one bucket, with a 
rope that went 'round and 'round a great roller; 
and there was a handle that I could turn myself." 

" This is a very old and respectable kind of a 
well, though," said Mr. Gregg, taking hold of the 
rope. " There must have been such wells as long 
ago as Shakspere's time." 

"How do you know?" asked Daisy, who was 
sure that Shakspere lived a great while ago, though 
she could not have told when. 

" Shakspere, you know, Daisy," said Mr. Gregg, 
" was a great poet who lived hundreds of years 
ago, and in a play he wrote, called ' King Richard 
II.,' he tells about just such a well as this. Richard 
was one of the kings of England, and a very 
unlucky king he was, though i can't deny that he 
brought his troubles on himself, for he was any- 
thing but a wise and prudent ruler. At last his 
cousin Prince Henry raised a great army and 
forced Richard to give up the crown. Poor King 
Richard did not show much spirit when his troubles 
came ; but, according to Shakspere, he made a 
very neat speech, when his clever cousin Henry 
told him that he had decided to become King him- 
self. Among other things, Richard said that the 
crown he must give up was 

' Like a deep well 
That owns two buckets filling one another; 
The emptier ever dancing in the air. 
The other down, unseen, and full of water; 
That bucket down, and full of tears, am 1, 
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.' " 

While Mr. Gregg was talking, the buckets in the 
well had changed places. The one which had 
swung in the air so lightly at first had gone down 
out of sight, and the other had come up ready to 
be emptied and to take its place in the sunshine. 

Mr. Gregg paused now as he poured out some 
of the water. Daisy was silent too, trying to un- 
derstand it all. 

" What became of King Richard? " she asked 

" He died in prison," said Mr. Gregg. "Some 
say his cousin Henry, who took his place as king, 
had him put to death ; and now," he added, turn- 
ing away from the well, " I think that I will see if 
your mother is ready to go to dinner with us." 

Then he turned toward the cottage and left 
Daisy standing by the well. She had not under- 
stood it all, but she felt very sorry forthe unhappy 
king, and she thought she knew why he said he 
was like the bucket in the deep, dark water when 
he sank under his grief and shame never to see 
any more bright days. 

She was leaning on the side of the well, with 
her hand upon the rope, thinking very earnestly of 
it all and trying to catch a glimpse of the bucket 
that was hanging there in the dark, when some- 

thing dreadful happened. Before she knew it, she 
had leaned over too far. She lost her balance and 
fell over the side of the well. Down, down went the 
bucket, more swiftly than it had ever gone before, 
and with it, but holding desperately to the rope, 
went Daisy ! There was only time for one terrible 
cry — and she was out of sight in the well ! 

There was no one there to save her, — Yes, there 
was Bruno ! He heard the cry. He saw his little 
friend go down, and with a bark that rang across 
to the mountains, he rushed to the well. He 
leaped frantically against the low wooden side just 
as the bucket which had been in the water rose 
even with its edge. Somehow he managed to fling 
his heavy paws on it, then his whole body, and 
then, all at once, it was Bruno that was going 
down, down, but clinging to the bucket and howl- 
ing as he went, — and Daisy was coming up ! 

It was only for a minute, therefore, that Daisy 
was in the water. The next moment, thanks to 
the sudden pull at the other end of the rope, she 
was rising again ; and just as Bruno, loosened his 
hold of the bucket, and dropped heavily into the 
water, Mr. Paul Gregg reached the side of the 
well, seized the rope and drew Daisy to the top, 
gasping, shivering, and frightened almost to death. 

As soon as Daisy could speak, she said, "Save 
Bruno ! " But they had already begun to do that, 
and they did save him, of course. The brave old 
fellow was none the worse for his adventure. He 
dried himself in the sunshine, and then lay down 
beside the rocking-chair where Daisy sat folded in 
a soft wrap, with vaseline on her blistered hands. 

Daisy was none the worse for it either, in the 
end ; though at first, when her mother asked her 
how it happened and she tried to say something 
about a " poor king," and " a bucket-full of tears," 
the poor lady was afraid the plunge had affected 
her daughter's mind, and to this day she is in 
doubt whether Shakspere or King Henry or Mr. 
Paul Gregg was responsible for the accident. 

One thing however, was clear. It was Bruno 
who had saved her. Had he really meant to go 
down with the bucket and rescue her ? Daisy 
never had a doubt of it herself. For the rest of 
the season he was the hero of the Park. The sum- 
mer guests bought him a silver collar beautifully 
engraved, and Mr. Paul Gregg declared that he 
should propose his name as an honorary member 
of the Humane Society. 

But Bruno's head was not turned with all those 
honors. He rambled through the fields with Daisy 
as he had done before, and when she put her arms 
around his neck, and said that he should be her 
dearest friend forever, he was happier than if his 
collar had been made of gold, or than if he had 
been elected president of the Humane Society. 




By C. F. Holder. 


In a former number of St. Nicholas the 
largest circus in the world was described, and the 
curious animal actors were shown in many of their 
tricks and performances. We now wish to exhibit 
another circus, the smallest in the world, the per- 
formers in which, numbering several hundreds, 
could all be carried about in a cherry-stone — in 
fact, a circus of fleas, of such remarkable intelligence 
that in their various feats they were quite equal to 
many of the larger trained animals with which we 
are familiar. 

But before showing what the flea can do, let us 
look at its antecedents. We know that it is a 
wingless fly, — a cousin to the house-flies on one 
side, and to the crane-flies on the other ; and a 
more knightly-looking little creature you can not 
possibly imagine. Under the microscope wc see 
it covered with a rich polished armor resembling 
tortoise-shell. The head is small, and supports two 
antenna, or feelers, composed of five joints, and 
between these is the proboscis, a terrible affair. 
Upon close examination with a powerful glass, what 
an array of piercing and cutting blades are seen, — 
long, narrow, transparent knives, each edge armed 
with a double row of glistening points that extend 
outward and then are hooked backward ! These 
are known as the mandibles, and lit closely to- 
gether, concealing another and smaller blade that 
has a similar but single row of points. Besides 

all this, there are two cutting-blades ; the under 
edges are as sharp as sharp can be, while the upper 
are thick and set with bristles. Do you wonder 
then that the flea is so sharp a biter? 

On its armored head are two large eyes ; and the 
entire body is seen to be made up of a series of 
elastic armor-like bands wonderfully jointed, and 
armed with bristling spines like the steel points on 
the armor of olden times. The legs are six in 
number, jointed in so remarkable a manner that 
they can be folded up one within another. When 
the flea makes its prodigious leaps, these six legs 
all unfold at once, hurling the little fellow high into 
the air. 

The baby flea is produced from a minute egg 
that in six days hatches into a tiny worm. In 
about ten days, the worm changes into a chrysalis, 
and in twelve days more it appears a perfect flea, 
ready for warfare upon anything or anybody. 

Who first discovered that the flea was suscepti- 
ble to education and kind treatment is not known ; 
but the fact remains that on their small heads 
there is a thinking-cap capable of accomplishing 
great results. In the selection of fleas for training, 
however, the same care must be taken as with 
human beings, as the greatest difference is found 
in them. Some are exceedingly apt scholars, 
while others never can learn, and so it is that great 
numbers of fleas are experimented with before a 




troupe is accepted. The Flea Circus here de- 
scribed was exhibited a few years ago and was 
composed of about two hundred of the most dis- 
tinguished and intelligent fleas in the entire family. 

One of the first lessons taught the flea, is to 
control its jumping powers, for if its great leaps 
should be taken in the middle of a performance, there 
would be a sudden ending to the circus. To 
insure against such a misfortune, the student flea 
is first placed in a glass phial, and encouraged to 
jump as much as possible. Every leap here made 
brings the polished head of the flea against the 
glass, hurling the insect back, and throwing it this 
way and that, until, after a long and sorry experi- 
ence, and perhaps many head-aches, it makes up 
its mind never to unfold its legs suddenly again. 
When it has proved this by refusing to jump in 
the open air, the first and most important lesson is 
complete, and it joins the troupe, and is daily har- 
nessed and trained, until, finally, it is pronounced 
ready to go on the stage or in the ring. 

The famous Flea Circus was placed on an ordi- 
nary table, and resembled in size and shape a com- 
mon dinner plate. A rim several inches high 
encircled the outer edge, and around the circle 
stood a number of small wooden boxes — the houses 
of the performers, and the stables for their car- 
riages. The signal being given, the audience, 
consisting of one human being, would take in 
hand the large magnifying glass, hold it over 
the ring, and the performance would begin. At 
the word of command from the director, a very 
jolly, red-faced old gentleman, armed with a pair 
of pincers, a tiny trap-door in one of the wooden 
houses sprang open and a number of fleas filed 
out. They passed around the circle in a 
dignified manner, appearing through the 
glass about as large as wasps or bees. Each 
flea had a gold cord about its waist, and this 
was the grand entry always seen at the cir- 
cus. Having completed the circuit, they 
returned to their quarters, and the perform- 
ance proper commenced. Five fleas, each 
adorned with a different color, stepped from 
another house, and after running about here 
and there, and being admonished by the 
director, ranged themselves in a line, and 
at (he word " go ! " started on a rush around 
the circle; running into each other, rolling over 
and over, and making frantic leaps over one an- 
other. Only after half the course had been gone 
over, did they move in regular order, and strive 
fairly for the goal. In another moment, a large 
flea would have won the race had not two laggards 
almost at the last instant, as if made reckless by 
their evident risk of defeat, taken a desperate leap 
and landed far beyond the winning-post. Forth- 

with they were taken up in the pincers, and placed 
in solitary confinement in the glass phial, where 
it was supposed they had learned not to jump. 

A dance was next announced and at a signal 
from the manager there came tumbling out from 
the third house probably the most ludicrous band 
of performers ever witnessed. Each dancer was in 
full regalia, like the ladies who ride the padded 
horses in the regular circus, their dresses of tissue 



paper being ornamented with purple, gold, and red 
hues. The glass was placed in position, the spec- 
tator looked through it, the performers were lifted 
in by the pincers, and the dance began — a mix- 
ture of the Highland-fling, the sailor's hornpipe, 
and a " regular" break-down. 

The little creatures bobbed up and down, now 
on one claw, now on all six, hopping, leaping, bow- 
ing, and scraping, moving forward and back, 
bumping into one another, now up, now down, 
until they seemed utterly exhausted, and several 


that had fallen down, and were kept by their volu- 
minous skirts from getting up, had to be carried 
off by the aid of the ever-ready pincers. 

Next came a hurdle-race. Hurdles of thin silver 
wire were arranged, over which two fleas were sup- 
posed to leap. One, however, was evidently very 
lazy or very cunning, as it won the last race by 
crawling under the wire. 

A clown flea now appeared in the ring, and 



crawled about in a comical manner with a white 
clown's cap on its diminutive head. A moment 
later out came a number of fleas all harnessed with 
gold wire trappings, and the several vehicles 
were taken from the stables. There was a tally-ho 
coach, smaller than a very small pea, an Eskimo 
sled, about a quarter of an inch long, with wire 
runners, a trotting sulky, evidently made from 
hair or bristles, and other gorgeous equipages. 
The tally-ho team of four frantic fleas, evidently 
fiery steeds, was harnessed to the coach, and on 
the top were placed four phlegmatic fleas that 
had probably been booked as outsiders, while the 
insides were two others fleas, which, we are sorry 
to say, were obliged to get in through the win- 
dow, and acted very much as if they wished to 
get out again. The other vehicles were each pro- 
vided with a steed and rider, and then all were 
drawn up in a row. At the word of command, off 
they started pell-mell ! The tally-ho leaders evi- 
dently jumped their traces at first, but finally they 
were off with a rush, running over the clown, 
knocking off his hat, and, for the moment, creat- 
ing a dreadful panic. The sled team threw its 
driver, and the sulky ran away, the flea trotter 
actually leaping into the air, sulky and all. But 
order was soon restored, and as the track was 
arranged on the downhill principle, the racers 
made rapid time. In two minutes the circuit was 
completed, the tally-ho coming in ahead, with- 
out, however, its outside passengers, who were 
thrown off as the coach was rounding the curve, 
and at once crawled into the nearest place of 

The last act of this wonderful circus was per- 
haps the best. The manager arranged the stage 
by placing two very fine entomological pins about 
four inches apart, connecting them by a slender 
silver wire, and then announced that Signor Pulex 
Irritanici, the world-renowned tight-rope per- 
former, would attempt his wonderful feat of dancing 
upon the wire at a " dizzy height" (compared to 
the size of the perfomer). The Signor was then 
brought out in a small bottle of cut-glass ; his only 
ornament was a little jacket of tissue-paper. When 
fished out and placed upon the pin-head, he boldly 


started out upon the wire over which his little 
clawed toes seemed to fit. In the middle, and over 
the terrific abyss, he balanced up and down for a 
second, stood upon his longest legs, and then 
moved on. crossing in safety, and thus ending the 
circus, at least for that occasion. 

By Mary X. Prescott. 

" ROCK-A-BYE, babies, upon the tree-top," 
To her young the mother-bird sings, 

" When the wind 's still, the rocking will stop, 
And then you may all use your wings." 

" Rock-a-bye, babies, under the eaves," 
The swallow croons to her brood, 

" Here you are safer, my children, from thieves 
Than if I had built in the wood." 

" Rock-a-bye, babies, the river runs deep," 
The reed-bird trills to her flock, 

" The river stirs only to sing you to sleep, 
The wind your green cradle to rock ! " 

53 6 






By Margaret Meredith. 

SYplan dates from a few delight- 
ful weeks which I spent with 
a girl friend, long ago. We 
were devoted to poetry and to 
reading aloud ; and in that 
occupation we had the aid of a 
brilliant, accomplished young 
woman. She selected for us 
from Coleridge, Shelley, and 
several other authors, whose 
entire works she knew we 
would not care to read, all the 
specially fine poems or pas- 
sages, and these we read and 
discussed with her over our 
fancy-work. It was charming. 
At last, she suggested that, 
as I was soon to go away and 
leave the books and clippings 
with which I had been growing 
familiar, it would be helpful 
for me to write down the choicest bits, and try in that 
way to keep in some degree what I had gained. This 
I did, putting the extracts in a school copy-book 
which our friend dubbed ' ' Snippers, " — from an odd 
seamstress word which she had picked up bychance. 
Other "snipper" books followed when that one, 
years after, had been filled. 

My system is an orderly one. All my books 
are broad-paged and wide-lined, thus preventing 
the cramped and crowded writing which often 
makes such books unreadable. When I find any- 
thing which strikes me as. worth keeping, I note 
on a slip of paper, somewhat longer than the book 
I am leading, the number of the page and make a 
perpendicular line beneath it, with a cross 23 

line indicating the relative position of the I 

sentence which I wish to keep, thus : 

If the page is in columns, I make, instead 
of the single line, a rough parallelogram, and 
note within it by square dots the relative positions 
of the sentences chosen for preservation, thus: 
187 This slip of paper I use as a book- 

mark until it is filled or the book is 
finished, noting upon it, as indicated, 
the choicest passages and their posi- 
tions on the pages. When I have 
finished the book I go carefully over 
these selected sentences. Many are 
discarded; the rest go into my ''snippers." Be- 
low the first entry and 

name of the book and its author, both heavily un- 
derscored ; below the others, the word " Ibid " or 
" ditto," underscored. At the top of each page I 
note the year, and at the head of each batch of 
extracts the month or day. 

Paragraphs cut from newspapers, which are 
worth saving, are pasted as a fly-leaf to the inner 
edge of the page, or even slipped under the bind- 
ing thread. 

In carrying out my plan I am always content 
with hasty work, — but I write plainly, and if pos- 
sible with ink, as much fingering destroys pencil- 
marks. I once tried classifying the extracts, but 
this scarcely paid for the trouble. 

I used sometimes to wonder whether these books 
of selections were of any real value. But I have 
grown now to prize them greatly. Many a time I 
go to them for a dimly remembered phrase or pas- 
sage. Sometimes, too, I read them over, for of 
course the)- give me the essence of what I most like 
and admire in my reading. A short time since I 
lent one to a literary friend, and was surprised to 
find she enjoyed it so greatly that she was almost 
unwilling to give it back. 

I am very glad that I began this practice in my 
young days. It gives very little trouble, and that 
little is a pleasure. 

There is a familiar expression about an "embar- 
rassment of riches." This is the greatest disap- 
pointment I experience with my "snippers." For, 
occasionally, a book has too many good things in 
it to be easily copied, and then my only relief is to 
own it and, marking it vol. A", add it to my row 
of extract-books. 

to the right, I place the 





By Henry Eckford. 


Perhaps you have never given a thought to the 
fact that, because you were born into a nation using 
an alphabet that came down from the Phoenicians, 
you are saved a world of trouble. But consider 
the Chinese. If a Chinese boy and an American 
boy begin to learn their letters at the same time, 
each studying his own writing, then by the time 
the American is ten years old he has advanced as 
far in the use of letters as the Chinese boy will have 
advanced in the use of his when he is twenty years 
old. That is the same as saying that Chinese writ- 
ing is three or four times as hard to learn as English. 
Think of spending the years between ten and twenty 
in learning to read ! On the other hand, the long 
apprenticeship of Chinese and Japanese boys to 
their letters does them good in one way. They 
paint their letters with a brush on soft paper. By 
this means they learn very early to be skillful with 
the brush, which is one reason why Chinese and 
Japanese artists are so very dexterous with their 

All writing, let it be remembered, must have 
begun with pictures. It is largely Chinese writ- 
ing which has explained how all sorts of letters 
were gradually changed from pictures to an alpha- 
bet, in which hardly a single letter tells from what 
picture it started. The Japanese tongue is quite 
different from the Chinese. But the use by the 
Japanese of signs employed ages before by the 
Chinese explains another step in the progress of 
language. The writing of the Mexican Indians also 
helps us to understand the growth of alphabets. 
When, ages ago, the Chinese began to write, they 
drew little pictures of the things they wished to 
represent, as did the Egyptians before them in 
their picture-writing ; and from picture-writing 
they made some advance in the direction of 
sound-writing, or rebuses. Then the little rebus- 
pictures were so much altered that it became very 
difficult to see what they once meant. 

Now Chinese is a queer language. All its words 
are only one syllable long. But the sounds in the 
Chinese language are not very many, some four 
hundred and sixty-five at most, and their written 
language contains about eighty thousand pictures, 
each picturerepresentingathingor idea. And these 
pictures must be committed to memory. This is 
hard work, and not even the wisest Chinese professor 
can learn them all. But now comes a difficultv. 

For, of course, where there are so many words and 
so few sounds, many different words have to be 
called by the same sound. How then are they to 
tell, when several different things have exactly the 
same name which of them is meant? 

We have such words. For instance, there is Bill, 
the name of a boy ; and bill, the beak of a bird ; 
there is bill, an old weapon, and bill, a piece of 
money; there is bill, an article over which legisla- 
tures debate, and bill, a claim for payment of money; 
besides bills of exchange, bills of lading, and so 
forth. But Chinese is full of such words of a single 
syllable, yen, for instance, which, like bill, means 
many very different things. So they chose a 
number of little pictures, and agreed that these 
should be used as " keys." The Chinese " kevs" 




i. A Month. (From a picture of the moon.) 2. The Eye. 3. A Horse. 

4. An Ax. 5. Rain. 6. Face. 7. A Dragon. S. Bamboo. 

9. Rhinoceros. ic. Dawn. (From the rising sun.) 

were used like the Egyptian " determinative 
signs," of which I told you. Each '•key" meant 
that the sign or signs near which it stood be- 
longed to some large general set of things, like 
things of the vegetable, mineral, or animal king- 




dom, forests, mines, or seas, air, or water, or of per- 
sons, like gods or men. It was like the game called 
Throwing Light, in which you guess the article by 
narrowing down the field until certain what it is. 

But there Chinese writing stopped short, thou- 
sands of years ago. There it is to-day. There are 
now two hundred and fourteen of these •' keys," and, 
by intense application, Chinamen learn to use their 
method with surprising quickness and success. 

The Japanese acted toward Chinese writing 
much as the Phoenicians did toward Egyptian writ- 
ing. The Japanese, a very intelligent people, made 
what you have learned to know as a syllabary, out 
of signs taken from the Chinese symbols. It is 
called a syllabary, you remember, because each 
sign stood in their language for a syllable. They 
had to do this, because, while Chinese is all short 
syllables, Japanese is a language of much longer 
words even than ours. They cut down and simpli- 
fied the Chinese signs, giving them names of their 
own. In this way they manage to write very swiftly. 
And, while not so clumsy as the Chinese fashion, 
the Japanese method is clumsier than is the use 
of an alphabet. In late years, a society has been 
started in Japan to do away altogether with their 
old-time writing, and adopt our alphabet. 

Perhaps, by this time, you are beginning to see 
how very slowly alphabets have grown, and how 
hard it has been for human beings to perfect 
them. Knowing this, will you not look now with 
more interest on written and printed words ? When 
you see letters, will you not reflect what a history 
each one has, reaching far back into the remotest 
past, where at first all seems dark, and where, when 
light does come, the very number and variety of 
materials perplex the student of alphabets ? More- 
over, will you not feel ashamed of people who 
laugh or sneer at savage nations who have no 
sound-writing, no syllabary, no alphabet ? It does 
not mean that in such races all men are stupid. 
As a rule it means simply that the race has not 
had a fair chance. It has been racked by wars. 
Or it has never come in contact peacefully with 
some nation that used a method of writing a trifle 
better than its own, so that the brighter minds 
could establish schools of learning. When one 
nation conquers another, the higher and cleverer 
minds among the conquered are often the first to 
be destroyed. The best of our Indians of North 
and South America seem to have been the first 
to fall in battle with the whites, or to have died 
off because of their cruelty. The reason why the 
others, who lived with or near the white settlers. 
did not readily borrow our way of writing in 
their turn, as we had borrowed from the Romans, 
the Romans from the Greeks and Phoenicians, 

and the latter from the Egyptians, seems to be 
that our system was too far advanced for them. 
But if the first white settlers in Central and South 
America had been kind and wise men, instead of 
coarse and greedy people, they could have found 
tribes and nations almost as advanced in their mode 
of writing as the Japanese, though not the equals 
of the Japanese in architecture and the fine arts. 
These tribes could have learned our alphabet if care 
had been taken to instruct their superior men. It 
is certain that the Aztecs, or Mexican Indians, had 
advanced very far on the road to a true alphabet. 
When the cruel Spaniards arrived and upset their 
governments, destroyed their temples, massacred, 
enslaved and then shamefully neglected them, they 
had already reached the art of rebus-writing. The 
name of the Mexican King, Knife-Snake, or, Itz- 
Coatl was written in this way : Itzli means knives, 
and Coatl, snake. There, in Fig. I, is the snake, 


and on his back are knives made of flint. They 
even went farther. The same name, Itz-Coatl, 
was also written as in Fig. 2. The flint-headed 
arrow means Iiz ; the jar, called Comitl, stands 
for Co j and the branch, a picture of water in 
drops, stands for atl, water. And it has been as- 
serted that certain neighbors of the Aztecs or 
Mexicans, known as the Maya Indians of Yucatan, 
who were ancient people of Central America, 
left ruins of cities covering square miles of forest 
and plain, and had reached nearly if not quite to 
the invention of an alphabet of vowels and conso- 
nants. But the latest authorities agree that such a 
Maya alphabet as the Spaniards reported may 
have been invented after the whites arrived. Speci- 
mens of Maya writing may be seen in Washing- 
ton, at the Smithsonian Institute, on slabs and on 
paper casts taken from their idols or statues of 
kings and priests. It was not by the Maya system, 
but by one of rebuses, that the old missionaries 
wrote what few books they composed for their un- 
unhappy Indian congregations. Only lately a 
book composed in picture-writing throughout, was 
printed for the Mikmak Indians of Newfoundland. 
In the next paper we will endeavor to trace 
the road by which our English alphabet came 
down from the Phoenicians, that ancient folk of 
the palm-tree and the Red Sea, whose alphabet 
ou saw in the first paper of this series. 

The illustrations of this article are reproduced, by permission, from a notable French work on ancient Hieroglyphics 
by Prof. L. De Rosny, of Paris. 




Every one knows how to blow bubbles ! " 
Ol course they do, and yet, the game I am about to describe is an entirely 
new and a very interesting one. 

When the game of Bubble Bowling was played for the first time, it 
furnished an evening's entertainment, not only for the children, but for 
grown people also ; even a well known General and his staff, who graced 
the occasion with their presence, joined in the sport, and seemed to enjoy 
it equally with their youthful competitors. Loud was the chorus of 
"Bravo!" and merry the laugh of exultation when the pretty crystal 
ball passed safely through its goal; and sympathy was freely expressed 
in many an "Oh!" and "Too bad!" as the wayward bubble rolled 
gayly off toward the floor, or, reaching the goal, dashed itself against 
one of the stakes and instantly vanished into thin air. 

Bubble parties are delightful, as most children know from experience, 
and it is unnecessary, therefore, to give a description of them here. I 
propose merely to introduce bubble bowling as a feature in these enter- 
tainments, which will furnish no end of amusement and jollity, and add 
increased enjoyment and variety to the programme. 

The game should be played upon a long, narrow table, made simply 
of a board five feet long and eighteen inches wide, resting upon ordi- 
nary wooden "horses." On top of the table, and at a distance of twelve 
inches from one end, should be fastened in an upright position, two stakes 
twelve inches high ; the space between the stakes should be eight 
inches, which will make each stand four inches from the 
nearest edge of the table. When finished, the table 
must be covered with some sort of woolen 
cloth ; an old shawl or a breadth of colored 
flannel will answer the purpose excellently. 
Small holes must be cut at the right distance 
for the stakes to pass through. The cloth 
should be allowed to fall over the edge of the 
table, and must not be fastened down, as it will 
sometimes be necessary to remove it in order to 
let it dry. It will be found more convenient, 

















therefore, to use two covers, if they can be provided, 
as there can then always be a dry cloth read)' 
to replace the one that has become too damp. 
The bubbles are apt to stick when they come 
upon wet spots, and the bowling can be car- 
ried on in a much more lively manner if the 
course is kept dry. Each of the stakes forming 
the goal should be wound with bright ribbons of 
contrasting colors, entwined from the bottom up, 
and ending in a bow at the top. This bow can be 
secured in place by driving a small, or brass- 
headed tack through the ribbon into the top of the 
stake. If the rough pine legs of the table seem 
too unsightly, they can easily be painted. Or a 
curtain may be made of bright-colored cretonne, — 
any other material will do as well, provided the 
colors are pleasing, — and tucked around the edge 
of the table, so as to fall in folds to the floor. 
The illustration on this page shows the top of the 
table, when ready for the game. 

For an impromptu affair, a table can be made by 
placing a leaf of a dining-table across the backs of 
two chairs, and covering it with a shawl. Thestakes 
can be held in an upright position by sticking them 
in the tubes of large spools. This sort of table the 

captains, and allowing each captain to choose, 
alternately, a recruit for his party until the ranks 
are filled, or in other words, until all the children 
have been chosen ; then, ranked by age, or in any 
other manner preferred, they form in line on either 
side of the table. A pipe is given to each child by 
the hostess, and they stand prepared for the con- 
test. One of the captains first takes his place at 
the foot of the table, where he must remain while 
he is bowding, as a bubble passing between the 
stakes is not counted unless blown through the 
goal from the end of the table. 

The bowl of soapsuds is placed upon a small 
stand by the side of the bowling-table, and the next 
in rank to the captain, belonging to same party, 
dips his pipe into the suds and blows a bubble, 
not too large, which he then tosses upon the table 
in front of the captain, who as first bowler, stands 
ready to blow the bubble on its course down through 
the goal. Three successive trials are allowed each 
player ; the bubbles which break before the bowler 
has started them, are not counted. 

The names of all the players, divided as they 
are into two parties, are written down on a slate or 
paper, and whenever a bubble is sent through the 


can arrange 


and it answers the 

purpose very nicely. The 

other things to be provided 

for the game are a large 

bowl of strong soapsuds, 

made with common brown 

soap, and as many pipes 

as there are players. 

The prizes for the winners 
of the game may consist of 
any trinkets or small articles 
that the fancy or taste of the hostess may suggest. 
Bubble Bowling can be played in two ways. The 
first method requires an even number of players, and 
these must be divided into two equal parties. This 
is easily accomplished by selecting two children for 

goal, a mark is set down opposite the 
name of the successful bowler. 

When the captain has had his three 
trials, the captain on the other side becomes 
bowler, and the next in rank of his own party 
blows the bubbles for him. When this captain 
retires, the member of the opposite party, ranking 
next to the captain, takes the bowler's place and 
is assisted by the one whose name is next on the 
list of his own side ; after him the player next to 
the captain on the other side ; and so on until the 
last on the list has his turn, when the captain then 
becomes assistant and blows the bubbles. 

The number of marks required for either side to 
win the game, must be decided by the number of 
players ; if there are twenty, — ten players on each 
side,— thirty marks would be a good limit for the 
winning score. 

When the game has been decided, a prize is 




given to that member of each party who has'the 
greatest number of marks against his or her name 
showing that he or she has sent the bubble through 
the goal oftener than any player on the same side. 
Or, if preferred, prizes maybe given to every child 
belonging to the winning party. 

The other way in which Bubble Bowling may be 
played is much simpler, and does not require an 

even number of players, as no sides are formed. 
Each bowler plays for himself, and is allowed five 
successive trials ; if three bubbles out of the five be 
blown through the goal, the player is entitled to a 
prize. The child acting as assistant becomes the 
next bowler, and so on until the last in turn be- 
comes bowler, when the one who began the game 
takes the place of assistant. 


By Caroline S. King. 

I 'M a knickerbocker boy ! 

See my coat and breeches ! 
Cuffs and collar, pocket too — 

Made with many stitches ! 
I must have a watch and chain, 
A silk umbrella and a cane. — 
No more kilts and skirts for me ! 
1 'm a big boy — don't you see? 


Knickerbockers ! Knickerbockers ! 

Give away my other clothes ! 
Give away my horse with rockers; 

I want one that really goes. 
Two brisk, prancing goats will do ; 
But I 'd like a wagon too. 
No more chairs hitched up for me ! 
I 'm a big bov — don't you see? 




By Palmer Cox. 

The Brownies planned at close of day 
To reach a town some miles away, 
Where roller skating, so 't was said, 
Of all amusements kept ahead. 

Said one : " When deeper shadows fall 
We '11 cross the river, find the hall. 

The bridge was nearly swept away, 
Submerged in parts, and wet with spray. 

But when the cunning Brownies get 
Their mind on some maneuver set, 
Nor wind nor flood, nor frost nor fire 
Can ever make the rogues retire. 

^IpftS 1 


And learn the nature of the sport 
Of which we hear such good report." 

To reach the bridge that led to town, 
With eager steps they hastened down ; 
But recent rains had caused a rise — 
The stream was now a fearful size ; 

Some walked the dripping logs with ease, 
While others crept on hands and knees 
With movements rather safe than fast, 
And inch by inch the danger passed. 

Now, guided by the rumbling sound 
That told where skaters circled 'round, 




Through dimly lighted streets they flew, 
And close about the building drew. 

Without delay the active band, 
By spouts and other means at hand, 
Of skill and daring furnished proof 
And gained possession of the roof; 

I 've rolled in surf of ocean wide, 
And coasted down the mountain-side, 
And now to sweep around a hall 
On roller skates would crown it all." 

My plans," the leader answer made, 
Are in my mind already laid. 

- . ..-'.V- , '■"-. fxfy> 

mm ■ ■■■ ■■ 


Then through the skylight viewed the show 
Presented by the crowds below. 

Said one: "While I survey that floor 
I 'm filled with longing more and more, 
And discontent with me will bide 
Till 'round the rink 1 smoothly glide. 
At night I 've ridden through the air, 
Where bats abide, and owls repair, 

Within an hour the folk below 
Will quit their sport and homeward go; 
Then will the time be ripe, indeed, 
For us to leave this roof with speed, 
And prove how well our toes and heels 
We may command when set on wheels." 

When came the closing hour at last, 
And people from the rink had passed, 




The Brownies hurried down to find 
The roller skates they 'd left behind. 

Then such a scene was there as few- 
May ever have a chance to view. 
Some hardly circled 'round the place, 
Before they moved with ease and grace, 
And skated freely to and fro. 

Some rose with fingers out of joint, 
Or black and blue at every point ; 
And few but felt some portion sore, 
From introductions to the floor. 
But such mishaps were lost to sight, 
Amid the common wild delight, — 
For little fuss do Brownies make 
O'er bump or bruise or even break. 


Upon a single heel or toe. 
Some coats were torn beyond repair, 
By catches here and clutches there, 
When those who felt their faith give way, 
Grabbed right and left without delay ; 
While some who strove a friend to aid, 
Upon the floor themselves were laid, 
To spread confusion there awhile, 
As large and larger grew the pile. 
VOL. XI II.— 35. 

And had that night been long as those 
That spread a shade o'er polar snows, 
The Brownies would have kept the floor. 
And never thought of sash or door. 

But stars at length began to wane, 

And dawn came creeping through the pane; 

And, much against the will of all, 

The rogues were forced to leave the hall. 




By Wm. E. Ashmall. 

I. Sing a - loud for Christ 



our King, 


Our lov 

ing Sav - iour dear 

i I i rf Lj i— J "- 1 ! — i i i 

" j— i J j j— r^ 

a j* ■« « s « ^ 






-* — g— 0— * — 

Let our hap - py 


ces ring, 

I'o all the earth good cheer. 

•^ * r P ■•-»■#- r i w -0- f f -0. 

Ill L.J !— J 


-» — 


=^=- F 

:S -*- S 


I — i j— i I i 
-0—0- J—1-0 ^ 




-p — *- 

It- - lu 

_»» L 

le - lu 

ia ! AI 

le - lu 

ia ! A - men. 


fcdbfc • e — H: 

4 S 




2 For He is risen up on high, 

From earth and dreary grave ; 
Christ is risen ! is our cry, 

He lives again to save. 
Alleluia ! Alleluia ! Alleluia ! Amen. 

3 Sing aloud for Christ our King, 

For Christ, the Saviour, born ; 
This carol ever we will sing, 

On this, our Easter morn. 
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Amen. 




By J. Abdon Donnegan. 

The Fair of the American Institute held an- 
nually in New York, is chiefly a display from the 
various American trades showing improvement and 
advancement; here designers and inventors also 
present many novelties and useful inventions for 
public criticism and judgment. 

One feature of the Fair of 1S85 that attracted 
much attention and comment, was the novel and 
unique display of mechanical models designed and 
constructed by the boys of the third grade in Gram- 
mar- School, No. 57, one of the public schools of 
New York City. The work exhibited by these boys 
is peculiarly interesting and suggestive, and is an 
indication of what observant, thoughtful, and intel- 
ligent boys can devise and do when their tastes 
and natural inclinations are developed. 

The boys' models were made at home, after 
class-hours, and on odd holidays during the six 
months previous to exhibition, and were primarily 
intended to illustrate the principles of the six me- 
chanical powers, — the inclined plane, the lever, 
the wedge, the pulley, the wheel and axle, and 
the screw. When the American Institute Fair 
opened, an inclined railway, with its platform and 
cars ; a miniature guillotine, with ready knife ; a 
dumb-waiter in full working order ; a derrick pre- 
pared to raise many weights ; a pile-driver with its 
automatically dropped weight, the sound of which 
never failed to attract attention, — all these, with 
other models, occupied a space in Machinery 

During the morning hours, curtains screened the 
models ; in the afternoon the youthful exhibitors 
arrived and took special delight in showing the 
working of their designs. The pleasant hours 
spent there, the praise of visitors, and the recog- 
nition and commendation accorded by the press 
will be long remembered by the boys. At the 
closing of the Fair, the exhibit was awarded the 
Medal of Merit. 

The illustrations on pages 548 and 5 50 show the 
models exhibited. Figure 1 represents an alco- 
holic furnace, illustrating the expansion of a brass 
rod by heat. A cylinder of tin, fifteen inches in 
height and five in diameter, is hinged to a base of 
wood and arranged so as to tilt to the left. A 
lever fifteen inches long opens and closes a damper; 
this lever (an umbrella rod) is inserted in a piv- 
oted rod of wood two inches long, supported in 
a square frame made of an inch strip of tin bent 
twice at right angles and soldered to the cylinder. 

A brass banner rod, seven inches long, also con- 
nects with this rod and, passing through an inch 
opening, is supported in the flame of an alcohol 
lamp and fastened on the opposite side by a tiny 
brass knob screwed on the protruding thread of the 
rod. A small pulley and weight steadies the 
motion of the lever. 

The heat of the alcohol flame causes the brass 
rod to lengthen, and this in turn moves the lever 
which opens the damper; and the degree of ex- 
pansion is indicated on a paper scale by a straw 
pointer attached to the rod of the damper. A 
coating of copper bronze was given to the cylinder. 
This model was made in part by Winfred C. 

Figure 2 shows a forge made by William E. 
Tappae. A hand-bellows is mounted on a wooden 
base about ten by twenty-four inches in size, and 
is worked by a lever handle supported in a frame 
twenty-six inches in height. The bellows consists 
of two boards connected by flexible leather tacked 
to the edges. The upper board is stationary, and 
an inch central opening is covered on the inside 
by a two-inch flap of chamois fastened at one 
point, forming a valve. 

As the handle is pushed up, the air rushes in, 
and when pulled down, the valve closes and the 
compressed air is forced through the metal 
nozzle to the glowing coals. The carved-wood 
anvil was stained black and the other parts were 
painted a bright vermilion. 

Figure 3 explains one way of connecting levers, 
and their uses as a mechanical aid. The base is 
four by fifteen inches in size, and the pillars are 
respectively six and ten inches in height, and are 
firmly mortised and glued into the base. The 
upper lever is eighteen inches in length, and con- 
nects with the ten-inch lower lever. 

The lead weights, sliding on the narrow edges of 
the levers, balance each other, and show how the 
heavy wagon of coal is balanced in the office by 
the weight on the scale-beam. 

A wedge made of oak ten inches in height and 
five inches in width is indicated by Figure 4. 

Figure 5 represents a diminutive pile-driver, 
twenty-eight inches in length, showing the plan 
and action of a large machine. 

The two-pound drop-hammer falls a distance of 
twenty-two inches in the grooves of the vertical 
posts which are mortised and glued into the base, 
as are also the oblique braces to which are attached 




the bobbin, or axle, and crank, on which the cord 
is wound that raises the hammer. This hammer is 
a flat piece of iron having two pieces of wood, each 
four by two and one-half inches in size, cemented 
to it. A wire hook is attached just above, and the 
extended arm of the hook as the weight nears the 
top, meets a projecting pin, and slips the weight 
from the cord. 

Figure 6 is the model of a wood-press useful in 
pressing flowers for an herbarium. The base and 
pressure board are each ten inches square, the sup- 
ports eight inches in height, and a wooden screw 
connected with the upper board turns in the cross- 
piece. This and the models shown in the draw- 
ings numbered 3, 5, and 10 were made by Harry 

Figure 7 represents the model of an inclined 
railway constructed upon the plan of the inclined 
railway actually in use between Hoboken and 
Jersey City Heights. A board forty-five inches in 
length and ten inches in width connects the ter- 
minal platforms of this model. The upper plat- 
form rests on a support thirty-three inches in 
height ; to this support is attached an axle turned 
by a crank, on which are wound the reversed 
cords which connect with the ascending and de- 
scending platforms. These platforms are mounted 
on rollers and the cars while in motion are kept in 
a horizontal position. This model was constructed 
by Everett L. Thompson. 

The same boy constructed also the model shown 
in Figure 8 — a dumb-waiter with original ar- 
rangement of cords and pulleys. The frame is 
thirty-six inches in height, eleven inches in width, 
and five inches in depth. Inside, a carrier with 
shelves is raised by a cord passing over four pulleys, 
the action of which may be seen through glass 
slips fitted in grooves. To the end of a cord is at- 
tached a weight which balances the weight of the 
carrier and contents. The frame-work was stained 
a dark mahogany color, oiled and varnished. 

Figure 9 represents a miniature guillotine as 
made by David W. Benedict. It was copied after 
one brought from France and exhibited at a well- 
known museum in New York City. 

The frame is twenty-two inches in height, and 
the block to which is fastened the tin blade, falls 
through the grooves in the posts to the rest upon 
which lies the head of the criminal. The cord 
raising the block runs over the pulleys, and is 
wound on the cleat when not in use. A box 
beneath receives the head of the imaginary victim 
as it falls. The machine with the exception of the 
blade was painted in bright vermilion and var- 

Figure 10 shows a small derrick constructed 
after a sketch of one used in the erection of the 

Madison Avenue bridge across the Harlem River. 
A mast of maple twenty-seven inches in length is 
mortised into an oak base, ten by twelve inches in 
size. A projecting arm, or jib, is fastened to the 
mast by a clasp of heavy tin. A cord and pulley 
keep the jib at a proper angle with the mast. 
The weight is hooked to a double pulley connected 
with the single pulley near the end of the jib ; the 
cord, passing over a wheel in the mast and then 
passing downward, is wound upon the axle by turn- 
ing the crank; a toothed wheel and ratchet stops the 
weight at the desired height. Neater pulleys than 
could be purchased were made by joining two 
wooden buttons and placing them in a whittled 
frame bound with piano-wire. The mast and jib 
were painted a dark blue and the base was polished 
and varnished. 

Figure 1 1 shows a model of a foundry crane, 
much admired for its accuracy of design and fin- 
ish. It was made by George Chase, of seasoned 
maple with iron and brass connections. A swinging 
jib is pivoted at the top to a brass plate screwed to 
the cross-piece of the frame, and turns on a steel 
pin fitted to a plate on the base. A carriage travels 
along the jib, being kept at the required distance by 
a cord passing over a wheel at the end of the jib. 
A cord attached to the carriage passes over a pulley 
connected with the weight, and also over the wheel 
of the carriage, to the wheel directing it to the axle, 
which is turned by a cog-wheel and pinion taken 
from an old clock. 

The carrier of the elevator shown in Figure 12 
is hoisted by a cord passing over a small iron pulley 
fixed to the cross-beam of the grooved posts, and 
thence to the spool, or axle turned by a crank. 

A clock-spring attached to a square wooden ro- 
sette is shown by Figure 13. 

Figure 14 represents a pump improvised by John 
B. Cartwright from an old mincing-machine. 

A handle turns a series of spur-wheels, which in 
turn give a rapid motion to a twelve-inch walking- 
beam. To one end of this walking-beam is attached 
a piston-rod, with a soft rubber disk working in a 
brass cylinder five inches long and three and a half 
inches in diameter. Iron fittings, including two 
brass valves, one on each side, connect with the 
cylinder ; an air-chamber is formed with a fitting 
and cap. The suction caused by the upward 
motion of the piston will draw water from a pail or 
cup through a rubber tube connected with the end 
fitting of the right-hand valve, then through the 
valve to the cylinder ; the downward motion of 
the piston causes the water to pass through the 
left-hand valve to the receiving vessel, and the 
air-chamber tends to make the flow regular. 
Parts of the machine were painted blue and 
striped with gold bronze. 




By the removal of one pane of glass from a win- 
dow facing south, the apparatus shown in Figure 15 
may be used, like a magic lantern, to project trans- 
parencies, in a darkened room. 

A pine board, fourteen inches square and one 
inch in thickness, has an opening in the middle to 
receive a wooden frame seven inches square, hold- 
ing a six-inch cosmorama lens, having a focus of 
eighteen inches. A three-inch plano-convex lens 
having a focus of nine inches, mounted in a wooden 
frame, slides along a slit or opening in a board 
hinged to the inner side of the board which is 
cleated to the window. 

A plate-glass mirror, eight by fifteen inches in size, 
issecured to a board hinged to a wooden rod, which 
can be turned from the inside, and is raised and 
lowered by a cord winding on a key. The mirror 
is lowered and inclined until the sunlight is re- 
flected through the lenses, and then a circle of in- 
tense light, from ten to fifteen feet in diameter 
appears on the wall or screen. Both lenses will 
not cost more than two dollars, and the apparatus 
will most impressively illustrate experiments in 
light and sound. 

An easily made electric lamp is shown by Figure 
16. An Argand chimney is fastened to a wooden 
base, with the cement known as "Stratena," and 
partly filled with water. A cork coated with paraf- 
fine is placed inside the chimney, and a rod of car- 
bon twelve inches long and one-sixteenth of an inch 
in thickness being inserted in the cork, the upward 
pressure of the water on the cork causes the end 
of the carbon rod to come in slight contact with a 
thick rod of carbon which is fastened obliquely to 
a square piece of wood, cemented near the top of 
the chimney. A brass chip fastened to the wood 
keeps the thin rod of carbon in position, and when 
two copper wires connect the carbons with six to 
ten jars of a bichromate battery, a light appears 
where the two carbons meet. As the thin rod 
wastes away, the cork rises and keeps the end of 

the rod almost in contact with the other carbon 

An ambition to creditably make a mechanical 
contrivance or apparatus is noticeably characteristic 
of many boys. The construction of an aquarium, 
a sailboat, or a telescope, or some similar object, 
is of absorbing interest to such lads ; and the mak- 
ing of the electrical apparatus of straws, sealing- 
wax, etcetera, once described by Professor Tyndall, 
has merely tasked the ingenuity of thinking boys to 
improve upon the apparatus. 

Many educators maintain that manual training 
of a pleasant character, adapted to the age of the 
pupils, should form an essential element in the 
education of boys and girls, and should be placed 
on a par with the regular studies. There is no 
doubt that such instruction stimulates ambition 
and tends to develop taste, skill, and natural 
invention. At the same time an insight into 
mechanical occupations, with some practical ex- 
perience in the handling of tools, may assist a boy 
in choosing a calling suited to his taste, and better 
prepare him to enter some practical industry, if his 
choice should incline toward such an occupation. 

A few years ago, manual training in modeling, 
wood-carving, carpentry, forge-work, and other 
branches, was introduced into a technical course 
in the College of the City of New York, in East 
Twenty-third street. To-day it is one of the 
most interesting features of the College work, 
and is highly appreciated by the students. Private 
schools in this city, as also some of the public 
and private schools of Boston and Philadelphia, 
have introduced the workshop into their methods 
of instruction, and devote a few hours in each 
week to practical and manual labor. 

The models illustrated in this article represent 
many well spent and helpful hours of recreation, 
and other boys may find pleasure and profit in 
making similar use of their leisure time and their 
powers of handicraft. 


By Eva Lovett Carson. 

A LITTLE boy just two years old, 

Or maybe two months older, 
Came riding home across the lot, 

Perched on his father's shoulder. 

Look, Oswald! Hold your head up straight! 

(Do stop that dreadful drumming!) 
See, just above where Mamma stands 

A little moon is coming ! " 

The baby lifts his round blue eyes ; 

The moon laughs at their glancing. 
To see the wonder of his gaze 

'Most sets the moon a-dancing. 

Frowning, he solved the problem soon; 

Indignantly he spoke it : 
Papa, dat's not the big wound moon ; 

I fink somebody b'oke it!" 





Away — ho, away! — Let us off on a quest! 
To the North — to the South — to the East — to 

the West ! 
To the West, to find where the sunsets go 
When the skies are as red as roses a-blow; 
To the East, to see whence the mornings come ; 
To the South, the Summer to track to her home; 
To the North, by the gleam of the Polar Star, 
And Night's aurora flaming afar, 
To seek, in the keen and biting weather, 
The lodestone that holds the world together. 

Now and then somebody writes out the very 
thoughts of the birds ; and then again, others tell 
me very prettily just what they think ought to be 
felt by the tuneful-minded little creatures. Here, 
for instance, comes this scrap of verse from my 
friend Emily A. Braddock that I hope not only 
you children, but all of my birds will hear. I 
don't allude so much to the sparrows and such 
stay-at-homes as to my migratory, or go-away 
birds. I 'm sure they 'd be delighted at a poet's 
way of putting things. It will give them some- 
thing to go for. As for myself, I 've not started yet, 
so we '11 proceed to discuss a certain odd saying 
for which it seems the world is indebted to one 
sort of these migratory birds: 


This expression, the Little School-ma'am says, 
is a corruption of an old-fashioned saying that 
originated in the early days of this country. 

As most of you know, wild geese, when they 
migrate in autumn, form themselves into lines 
shaped like the letter V, the leader flying at the 
point, the two lines following; and as they sail 
away, far above the trees, and beyond all danger 

from guns — on those cold mornings when the air 
is clear, and the sky beautifully blue — they seem 
full of glee, and join in a chorus, • i Honk, honk, 
honk ! " 

Any one who has heard those curiously sound- 
ing notes, the Little School-ma'am says, never 
could mistake them for anything else. And the 
folks on the earth below who heard the birds' wild 
call, in old times, realized the happiness of the 
winged creatures in being so high and safe. And 
so it became quite natural, when two persons met 
each other under peculiarly favorable circumstances 
for this or that enterprise, for them to say : " Every- 
thing is lovely and the goose honks high ! " 


BEFORE we leave our dear birds, moreover, I 
have a special message for you this month in their 

" You must not forget, friend Jack," says the 
Deacon, "to give the boys and girls, especially 
the girls, my May-time sermon about the Audubon 

Forget it? Not I, indeed! Nor would you, if 
you could have seen the honest and hearty in- 
dignation of the good Deacon and the Little 
School-ma'am, as he read to her a printed circular 
telling all about the monstrous wrong which the 
Audubon Society has nobly begun to fight. You 
must know, dear girls, that this "monstrous 
wrong" is the custom of wearing feathers and skins 
of birds on your hats and dresses. As I am an hon- 
est Jack, I don't see how girls and their mammas, 
who, as everybody knows, are supposed to have 
hearts more tender than men or boys, could ever 
have been induced to follow so abominable a fashion. 
"Abominable" is rather a strong word, I sup- 
pose ; but it is the very one which the good Deacon 
used when he read the printed slip. And the Little 
School-ma'am — bless her! — actually gave a nod 
of satisfaction when she heard it. As for me, no 
word would be too strong to express my feelings 
on the subject. 

But I '11 be content now with giving you what 
the Deacon calls "two plain facts" about this 
fashion, and letting them speak for themselves. 
" You must know then," says the Deacon, " that 
a single collector of ornamental feathers in this 
country has declared that he handles every year 
about thirty thousand bird-skins, almost all of which 
are used for millinery purposes; and that another 
man collected from the shooters in one small dis- 
trict within four months, about seventy thousand 
birds ! 

"Now, Jack," adds the Deacon, "tell your 
young hearers to ask themselves and their parents, 
whether this slaughter shall continue ? The Audu- 

bon Society says 

Its membership is free 

to every one who is willing to lend a helping hand 
to its objects. And its objects are to prevent as 
far as possible, first, the killing of any wild birds 
not used for food ; second, the destruction of nests 
or eggs of wild birds ; and third, the wearing of 
feathers as ornaments or trimmings for dress. And 

1886. ] 



certainly women and girls can do much, in fact 
everything, for this third object." 

All the older readers of St. Nicholas will 
remember the army of bird-defenders which it 
established years ago. The Deacon says that 
there is a call for a new army, and all that you 
need do to join it, my girls, is to refuse to wear 
feathers on your hats or dresses. If all the women 
and girls who now follow that cruel fashion would 
but abandon it, the needless slaughter of the birds 
would soon be at an end. 


" Felixstow," Bkightwood {Near Washington). 

Dear JaCK-in-the-Pllpit : I am a little boy just six years old. 
I live in the country about six miles from Washington. I am very 
much interested in reading " Little Lord Fauntleroy," because Mrs. 
Burnett, the lady who wrote it, was out at our house last spring, 
and told us the story, and I want to see if she changed it before she 
put it in ihebook. 1 tell you, her own little boys, Lionel and Vivian, 
are nice fellows to play with ! I have a nice pony named Joe, lots 
of chickens, a dog, and two cats, but I like digging in the ground 
most. I raised a lot of pop-corn last year. Somebody is writing 
this for me, but I am telling him what to write. My little brother 
Paul bothers me considerably when I want to make things. 

Good bye, dear Jack ; you are a nice fellow. Your friend, 

Felix Renouf Holt. 

"Felix is not alone," says the Little School- 
ma'am, "in his admiration for Little Lord Faun- 
tleroy. The children of the Red School House all 
are charmed with his lordship, and for myself I 
consider him one of the very sweetest and noblest 
little boys in English literature." 


ACCORDING to my friend, Ernest Ingersoll, a 
large proportion of the red coral used by jewelers 
in making ornaments comes from the Mediterra- 
nean coast of Algeria, whereitis gathered chieflyby 
an ingenious machine. Nets, the meshes of which 
are loose, are hung on the bars of a cross, and 
dragged at the bottom of the sea among the nooks 
and crevices of the rocks. These nets, winding 
about the branches of the coralline growth, break 
off its branches, which adhere to the meshes. 
When he thinks it is laden, the fisherman draws 
the net to the surface and helps himself to the 
coral. This is sold in various markets, and after- 
ward worked into ornaments, necklaces, brace- 
lets, and other pretty articles for girls and their 


Reading, Mass.. 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pclpit : I read in the February number about 
the bottled fish. I think it is very queer. In " Grimm's Fain" 
Tales " there is a story about a fox that crept into a hole where there 
was something to eat. After he ate it he grew so fat that he could 
not get out, and he stayed there till the farmer found him and killed 
him. I suppose it was the same way with the fish, only he fed on 
oysters, and as I think there are no farmers at the bottom of the sea, 
he stayed there till he was drawn up. It I had been that fish, I would 
have starved myself till I was thin enough to get out. I have taken 
St. Nicholas since I was two years old, and my mamma says she 
brought me up on it, so you see I have been well brought up. 

I remain yours truly, E. S. K. Packard. 


You are to be told in this month's ST. NICHO- 
LAS, I hear, about a curious "lace-leaf," a " veg- 
etable necktie," and a "caricature plant." If so, 
this is a good time for me to show you a curi- 

osity called the newspaper plant, which the Little 
School-ma'am described the other day to the young 
folk of the Red School House. 

It seems that in certain far-away countries called 
New Mexico and Arizona, there are great tracts 
of desolate desert lands, where the very hills seem 
destitute of life and beauty, and where the earth is 
shriveled from centuries of terrible heat. And in 
these desert-tracts grow a curious, misshapen, gro- 
tesque and twisted plant that seems more like a 
goblin tree than a real one. 

Of all the trees in the world, you would 
imagine this to be the most outcast and worthless 
— so meager a living does it obtain from the waste 
of sand and gravel in which it grows. And yet this 
goblin tree is now being sought after and utilized 
in one of the world's greatest industries — an indus- 
try that affects the daily needs of civilization, and 
is of especial importance to every girl and boy who 
reads the pages of St. Nicholas. 

Those wise folk, the botanists, call our goblin 
tree by its odd Indian name of the " Yucca " palm. 

This plant of the desert for a long time was 
considered valueless. But not long ago it was dis- 


THE yucca palm. 

covered that the fiber of the Yucca could be made 
into an excellent paper.* And now one of the 
great English dailies, the London Telegraph, is 
printed upon paper made from this goblin tree. 
Indeed, the Telegraph has purchased a large plan- 
tation in Arizona, merely for the purpose of culti- 
vating this tree, and manufacturing paper from it. 
So, you see, the Yucca is now a newspaper plant. 


Dear Jack : As you have told us so much about living barom- 
eters, I want to tell you that I have one. Mine is a red squirrel. 
Just before a "cold snap" she will be surly and sleepy. When 
she is angry, she will spread her lower teeth apart. She will play 
like a kitten. I call her Gipsy, and she is my chief pet. 

Your constant reader, M. M. M. 

* For an article describing the manufacture of paper, see St. Nicholas for August, 

, page 808. 





In a note which accompanied the article in our present number, 
" When Shakspere was a Hoy," Miss Kingsley desires us to state 
that she owes much valuable information about charms (mentioned 
on page 488), and also about Shaksperean games and customs, to 
Mr. Richard Savage, of the Shakspere Birthplace Museum, Strat- 

In his story of "The Great Snow-ball Fight," printed in our 
March number, Mr. Barnard showed how some boys put out the 
fire in the Widow Lawson's house, by snow-balling it. This may 

have appeared to some readers almost impossible, but it was based 
upon an actual occurrence. And an instance of that mode of at least 
preventing a fire, was recorded in the New York papers of February 
nth. It appears in an account of the burning of the stables of the 
Meadow Brook Hunt Club, at Hempstead, Long Island. "No 
modern appliance for extinguishing fire was at hand," says one 
journal, "but there was plenty of snow, and this was banked up 
about the adjoining stables, and undoubtedly saved them from being 
burned. Whenever sparks from the burning building fell on the 
adjacent barns, they were quickly extinguished by well-directed 
snow-balls thrown upon them." 


Concord, N. H. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Lena and I play dolls very often, but the 
latest game we play is throwing cards into a hat placed on the floor 
about six feet away. Lena put i 1 thirty-two out of fifty-two. If you 
have room enough to print this in your Letter-box, I should like to 
read it. 

Yours truly, Ruth A. M. 

That is a very nice game, Ruth, although six feet seems a long 
distance (or a small girl to toss the cards. We have seen grown 
folk try the game at four feet, and then several of them could not put 
one in twenty into the hat ; so Lena's score of thirty-two out of fifty- 
two is a fine one. The game can be played with any kind of cards, 
and with sides or by individuals. The largest number of cards 
thrown into the hat, either by one person or by a side, makes the 
winning score. If played by sides, not more than twenty cards 
should be used, and each side should play five rounds, thus making 
one hundred the highest possible score for any player. 


Dear St. Nicholas : I am anxious to have the March number 
come, so that I can see how Little Lord Fauntleroy's grandfather 
treats him. That serial story I enjoy very much. I go to a private 
girls'school in the morning, and study German in the afternoon with 
my mother. 

With much love I am your faithful reader, 

Helen W. A. 

Providence, R. I. 

Dear St. Nicholas : This is the first time that I have written 
to you. 

I have a funny story to tell about a mouse. My canary bird used 
to hang up in our nursery-window on a chain. Sometimes in the 
evening or night, we would hear mice running around, and in the 
morning we would find that some of the seed was gone. Mamma 
thought it was a mouse, but we did not think so. Papa had been 
trying to catch them in a trap, but did not catch many. We then 
thought that we would try another way. So Papa took the cage 
down and put a pail of water on the chain, and when the little mouse 
went up the chain, as he used to do, instead of going in the cage, 
he went in the pail <>f water and was drowned. This is a true story. 
I am eleven years old. Good-bye. 

am your constant reader, B. G. H. 

Carrington, Dakota. 
Dear St. Nicholas : You do not know me at all, but I know 
you and love you so much ! When you were brought to me this 
morning I almost kissed your bright face for joy. It was stormy 
this morning, and I was tired playing with kitty ; besides that I had 
been waiting so long to read some more about Little Lord Fauntleroy ! 
He is such a brave, wise little bov ! Will you ask Mrs Burnett to 
please not make him unhappy with his grandfather? Ever since 
we had our Christmas entertainment, I have wanted to tell you 
about it, but have been too sick to write you. We called it " An 
Evening with Mother Goose and the Brownies.'* Yes, — we had all 
the cute little boys in Carrington dressed up like Brownies. They 
did mischief very nicely, all quietly in their stocking-feet. While 

Mother Goose was singing her melodies, they came and stole away 
her goose, and they pelted Mother Hubbard with paper balls when 
she sang that song in the St. Nicholas: " I had an Educated Pug." 
In the tableaux, they tripped up Jack and Jill, upset Blue-beard, stole 
Jack Horner's plum, overturned the bachelor's wheelbarrow, little 
wife and all, let the spider down from a tree on little Miss Muf- 
fett, and tied Bo-peep's sheep-tails to a tree, and woke her up with 
their baa's. Then we had "The House that Jack built," just like 
it is in the St. Nicholas, for Nov. 1883. It was just splendid, and so 
funny ; but when the rat was to come out of " The House that Jack 
built," the cat had put his foot on the string and it broke, so the cat 
couldn't come out. Then the maiden all forlorn picked up the rat, 
threw it at the cat, and everybody just roared ! 
I am nine years old, and my name is, 

Theodora C. 

New Hartford, Iowa. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I believe the little girls that take the St. 
Nicholas will like to hear about my numerous paper dolls. 1 have 
a whole town of them, and they all have their names written on their 
backs. I was so interested in "The Firm of Big Brain, Little 
Brain & Co." After I read it. I kept thinking what my " Big 
Brain " was telegraphing. Well, my big brain telegraphs to my 
hand, that if it writes any more, the letter will be tou long to print. 
So good-bye. I am 

One of your many friends, 

Grace C. 

Woodland, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I think you are the nicest magazine in 
the whole world. I think " Little Lord Fauntleroy " is a beautiful 
story. It seems so real. Cedric reminds me of my little cousin 
Birdie (that is his pet name). One day his aunt (who is an artist) 
asked him if he did not want her to paint him. He said : " I had 
rather be as I are." He is nearly four years old. I live on a vine- 
yard of 1 Co acres. 

Your faithful reader, Lillian H. 

Fort Assinaboine, Mon. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I commenced taking your paper five 
months ago. and I think " Little Lord Fauntleroy " is the best story 
I ever read. 

We have plenty of skating here, and fifty ponies to ride. 

Another boy is writing a letter to you too. We live 200 miles from 
Helena and we have to go in a stage or wait till the river opens. 

We only have to go to school in the morning, and we play all the 
rest of the day. Yours truly, S. F. P. 

Brooklyn, N. Y., 1886. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I thought that I would send you a letter at 
last. I will tell you about our washwoman and me. I have 
something the matter with my knee, and so I have to stay in the 
house. Well, our washwoman and I were having some fun. I was 
ac the back parlor window, and the washwoman was down in the 
back yard hanging up the clothes, and I got a snow-ball and threw 
it at her, and you ought to have seen her ! She looked up and down 
and could not see anybody, and after a while she saw me, and then, 
the way she looked! She said : " I will give it to you! " 

Yours truly, Frank T. 



Everett, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you for a year and I could 
not do without you. Every month you gladden our home with your 
beautiful pictures, interesting stories, and pretty bits of poetry. 

I think " Little Lord Fauntleroy" is a splendid story. I must not 
forget to mention the ''Brownies'." What busy little workers they 
are ! I have one pet, a beautiful linnet. Her name is Daisy. She is 
a very sweet singer. 

I remain, your constant reader, May F. 

Kingston, Indiana. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I do not see many letters from Indiana in 
your Letter-box. I would not do without you for ten dollars a year. 

I like your Natural History. I have several books on Natural 

Last year I wanted you so badly that Papa said I must earn the 
money myself I had enough, lacking fifty cents. We had an oyster 
supper here, and papa gave me fifty cents to spend ; so I did without 
oysters and took you. I am thirteen years old. 

Yours sincerely, Art. R. 

Mr. Auburn, Cincinnati, O. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I like your stories very much. I am a boy- 
seven years old. I do not go to school, but Mamma teaches me with 
two little girls. I had a lovely Christmas. I got a locomotive, a 
sword, a scarf, a marble game, a rolling-pin, a box to keep my pens 
and pencils in, and some cards and books for Christmas. 1 think 
you are the best book I ever read. This is the first year I began to 
take you. I like the " Brownies" be^t. Tell Mr. Palmer Cox to put 
"Brownies" in every St. Nicholas. Please don't forget to print 
my letter, for I have written it all myself, and spelled it without any 

I had two kittys, and their names were Mitten and Topsy. We 
gave away Mitten and kept Topsy, but after a while we lost Topsy, 
and then we found another kitty, but she ran away. I am sorry they 
went away, fori love kittys. Good-bye, dear St. Nicholas, I am so 
glad it is most time for you to come again. Please don't forget 
to print my letter, for I love you so much ! 

Your loving friend, Ralph B. R. 

pie dedicated to the sphinx lies in ruins here, but the remains are 
very beautiful, being nearly all of alabaster; and in the cellar they 
have just discovered an image, which is so immense they can't 
get it out from the place where it has lain so many hundred 
years. Some time I will write a letter about the Holy Land, as I 
lived there two months. I hope you will print my letter; it is my 
first attempt, and I am fourteen years old. Your March number will 
find me at Alexandria, fori take the Beyrouth steamer next week. 
I hope, dear St. Nicholas, your Egyptian friend has not tired you, 
and I also hope this may find a place in your Letter-box. 

Your loving Egyptian friend, Maud Stanley F. 

Mohegan Lake, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I send you this letter, a true story about a 

It was in the middle of April, 18S3. A man who was rowing on one 
of those lakes east of the Highlands, in thenorthern part of Westches- 
ter County, espied a large fish-hawk sitting on a dead limb near the 
water. The man, having his gun with him, rowed over toward the 
hawk, and when in range fired at him flying. The wounded bird 
fell, hit r.n the outer joint of the left wing. With the help of his 
companion the man managed to bring him home. In less than a 
week, the boy of the house fed him with fish out of his own hands, 
and the hawk did not attempt to claw him. One day the boy wanted 
to see how many pounds of fish the hawk would eat. He caught 
seven suckers weighing a pound and a half each. The hawk ate six, 
one after another, and took the seventh, but refused to eat it until 
half an hour afterward. What an enormous appetite he had ! Later 
on in the summer, the boy would take him to the water tn wash. He 
did it just as a canary does in his china bath. The boy would 
take him and put him on the side of the boat and row him around, 
and the hawk would sit there, taking in everything, as well as the 
summer visitors, who were laking him in. The hawk was so tame 
that his keeper could smooth his head and chuck him under his 
beak and the hawk would only flop his wings and whistle when the 
boy turned, as though delighted with what the boy did. This creat- 
ure measured five feet eleven inches from tip to lip of the wings, and 
came to his death in October of the same year, by cetting caught 
in the string by which he was fastened, greatly to the sorrow of his 
keeper who cared for him. The bird is now stuffed and in a friend's 
room in New York City. Yours truly, S. F. K. E. G. 

Lewisburg, W. Va. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have just finished reading the February 
number, and I think that " Little Lord Fauntleroy " and " Genrge 
Washington " are splendid ! I am a little girl ten years old. Have 
taken you for four years. 

I have ever so many uncles and aunts. One of my aunts sends 
you to me. Your loving reader, Dottie M. 

Wyoming, Del. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have never written to you before, but I 
love to read the letters others have sent you. You have been coming 
to our house nearly three years, and we all look anxiously fur the 
26th of the month, when you are due. You are my own book. I 
pay for you with money I have earned myself. My little sister 
wonders whenever she sees St Nicholas what the Brownies are 
doing in it. Mamma is much interested in " Little Lord Fauntle- 
roy," and we like it too, and all the rest of your slories, but 
especially " The Gilded Boy of Fkirence," because we know ihe 
man who wrote it and have heard him preach. He says all he wrote 
in that story is true. Good-bye. 

Ever your faithful reader. C. Lizzie B. 

London, England. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am an American girl who left New York 
four years ago, during which time I have been a constant reader of 
St. Nicholas. My school friends who read English all want it 
also. You have been forwarded to me from London as far as Tur- 
key and Egypt. And so, if you can only spare a few minutes, 1 would 
like to tell you about the pyramids and the sphinx. 

From Shepherd's Hotel, Cairo, it is a beautiful drive of seven miles 
through an archway of large trees by the side of the Nile. There 
are several pyramids. The chief one is said to be 463 feet high, and 
one would think the top would be very small ; but you will no doubt 
be surprised to hear that the Khedive gave a dinner to twenty-four 
guests upon the toy) of a pyramid. The dinner was served in the usual 
manner by Arab waiters; the gentlemen walked up, while the ladies 
were carried up in chairs. The pyramids are built like stairs, — one 
stone on top the other, with only an edge for a foothold. 

Many tourists try to climb the structure, which is very fatiguing 
work. We gave an expert Arab fifty cents to do it in ten minutes ; 
he went up in six minutes and down in four minutes. From the pyra- 
mid to the sphinx is quite a little walk through thick sand; and the 
Sphinx is so big you can hardly see it all at once. The English sol- 
diers knocked off some of its right hand and all its no^e. It is cut 
from a solid rock and looks as black as iron. The Egyptian postage 
stamps have pictures of both the pyramid and the sphinx. The tem- 

Cincinnati, O. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I thought I would write to you to say 
what so many of the other girls and boys who take you have already 
said: " That I love every one of your stories and can hardly wait 
until the 25th of.the month comes, to read you." I have taken you 
two years and would not be without you one single month. I live in 
the dirty city of Cincinnati, but I have a great deal of fun any way. 

We have had two snowstorms this winter, but by the time the 
snow has lain on the ground three or four days it is so black that I 
actually believe that people who come from the country would not 
know it was snow unless they were told. 

I will now close, hoping to have the pleasure of seeing this letter 
printed. I remain, your constant reader, 

Grace S. C. 

P. S. I forgot to say I was thirteen years old and have a brother 
nine years old, who thinks the St. Nicholas "a dandy," as he 
expresses it. 

More About Curve-Pitching. 

Lincoln Co., Neb. 

Dear St. Nicholas: The two letters in the February number 
on "curve-pitching," I was very glad to see. It was during my 
college-days that the " curve " made its appearance, and it was for 
some time a matter of much interesting discussion among us. I was 
not much of a base-ball man, but I saw a good deal of curve-pitch- 
ing, and occasionally threw some rather wild " curves "'' myself in 
an amateurish way. We budding physicists discussed the why and 
wherefore of the problem, but never arrived at any satisfactory solu- 
tion. The same explanation which is given in the second letter of 
your February number suggested itself to me at the time, and 1 was 
quite satisfied with it until I discovered that it did not accord with 
the facts of [he case. It is a beautiful theory, but, like some other 
theories, it doesn't work. 

According to the theory, as shown by your correspondent, the 
ball rotating (as indicated by his diagram which he gives), against 
the hands of the watch should curve to the right, producing the 
in curve. But the fact is, that a ball so rotating will curve to the 
left — the out curve. And a ball rotating in a contrary direction, 
1, c, so that points on its forward side are moving to the right, will 
curve to the right— the in curve. In both cases the axis of rotation 
is vertical, so that the motions ot the ball may be well illustrated by 
a spinning-top, as is shown in the first letter by A. D S. But the 
case of a rifle-ball in motion does not seem to me tn be parallel with 
that of a base-ball under normal conditions. A rifle-ball is given a 
rotation about an axis parallel to and coincident with its line of 
flight, just as an arrow rotates on its shaft. Now, none of the 
curves of a base-ball are produced with the axis of rotation in this 




position. In the in and out curves, as already said, the axis of rota- 
tion is vertical; while the rise and drop are produced by rotating 
the ball about a horizontal axis perpendicular to the line of flight. 
In all cases the axis of rotation i>iust be at right angles to the line 
of flight, and the more accurately this condition is complied with, 
the more marked the effect. My knowledge uf the subject is too 
slight to warrant me in asserting that the curving of the rirle-ball and 
that of the base-ball do not depend on the same principle, but it does 
not seem tome that the two are identical, for the above reasons. 

I have no theory to offer, but trust that among the readers of St. 
Nicholas some may be found who have penetrated to the " true 
inwardness " of this interesting problem, and will give us a complete 
and scientific explanation of it. Yours truly, H. H. H. 

Beverly, Ohio. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have read with considerable interest the 
letters in St. Nicholas for February concerning curve-pitching. I 
am a boy who takes great interest in base-ball, and have many times 
pitched curves. I have seen persons, and see them yet, who firmly 
maintain that a ball cannot be curved, even when they have ocular 
demonstration of the fact. But that has nothing to do with what I 
have to say. I have studied the diagram of my anonymous friend, 
and am convinced that he is exactly wrong. With the following 
diagrams I shall show which way a ball curves with a given rotation, 
and give my theory of the curve : 

„ laoh.* g 


^_ ihe.J33.llis tTlt-owtv. 

Jj looks'. 

2*. loo-e.s 



■t?i*.J&Jl is Thrown,. 


looCs.. B. 


Suppose, as in the letter published, the ball moves one hundred 
feet per second, and revolves so that the equator moves around at 
the same rate. Then, in the first diagram, the friction at Bis greatest, 
and at D is o. But instead of curving as my anonymous friend 
demonstrates, it will curve in exactly the opposite direction; namely, 
in the same direction in which it rotates. 

I have appended diagram 2, simply to show the curve where the 
friction is o at B and greatest at I). Then it will curve as indicated. 

I have a short theory, namely : In the first diagram, the more 
rapid movement of B compresses the air on that side, while at D it 
is in its normal state. Hence the pressure at B more than counter- 
balances that at D, and, as it were, shoves the ball in the direction 
of the side D, thus producing the curve. In the 2d diagram, the let- 
ters B and D interchange in the theory. I would like to hear more 
about this subject. Very respectfully yours, F. C. J. 

Birmingham, Mich. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have read with great interest the arti- 
cles in the October, December, and February numbers, about curve- 
pitching. I have had quite a good deal of experience in the "one,- 
two, -three, -and-out " line myself, and have also, for the last two or 
three years, been able to make others have the same experience, 
by putting them out, in the same way. Therefore, I venture a reply 
to the explanation in the February number, backing my statement 
by the experience of many eminent curve-pitchers, and also by the 
story in the October number of " How Science Won the Game." 


The above diagram is the same as your correspondent uses, and he 
asserts that the point B is moving faster than D; consequently, 
there is more friction at B, whence B is retarded more than D, 
and so the ball will curve toward W in the path of the dotted line. 

Now, if he will look in the story of " How Science Won the Game," 
where the base-ball editor shows the boys how to hold and how 
to throw the ball to make the different curves, he will find that when 
he throws the ball so that it whirls as shown in diagram, it will curve 
toward P, a direction entirely opposite from the one he designates. 
And any curve-pitcher will tell him the same. When I first read his ex- 
planation, 1 thought it was all right, for it looks quite reasonable, but 
upon second thoughts, I saw it was wrong, and to make sure, I took 
a ball and tried it. The only way I can get around his explanation 
(aside from actual fact) is this: The point B, as he clearly shows, 
is moving faster than D, and so the ball, if the friction of the air is 
taken away, will naturally curve toward the side D or point P. Now, 
the question is, Will the triction of the air be enough greater on the 
side B to overcome the difference in the motions of the two sides? 
If it is, the ball must move in a straight line, but as it curves 
toward the side D, we must conclude that it is not, and that the 
friction of the air tends more to hinder than to help the ball to 
curve. I really believe that if it could be tried, a person could make 
a ball curve in a vacuum more easily than we can make it curve in 
the air. Trusting to hear more upon this subject, I remain, sin- 
cerely yours, "A Curver." 

Fremont, Neb. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have never written to you before, but I 
think perhaps you will publish this one letter. I hope you will 
publish it, as I have never yet had anything of mine published. 

I like the story entitled, " How Science Won the Game." Al- 
though I am but thirteen years old I think I can pitch a curve. I go 
to the Fremont Normal School and like it very much. 

I am going to have the 1884 and 1885 St. Nicholas bound next 
week. I think you have a very entertaining magazine, and I think 
the pictures are very nice. I have the magazine for a Christmas 
present every year. I have taken St. Nicholas three years and 
I hope I may always take it. 

Papa says he docs n't think you will publish this, but I think you 
will. Yours truly, Eddie H. B. 

Aver, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas : As so many of your readers have written 
to you, I thought I would write too, that I might have the pleasure 
of seeing my letter in print. 

I have taken you a year and have fallen greatly in love with your 
delightful pages. 

I think " How Science Won the Game " is a lovely story ; I felt 
much interested in it, for last summer the girls of my age who lived 
here got up a base-ball nine. In rime, we played very nicely and 
enjoyed the fun. The readers of the Letter-box may think this a 
funny game for girls to play, but we liked it and found it very good 

I am fifteen years old ; I have a little dog, his name is Teddie ; 
he is a very good little dog, but 1 pity the cat that gets in his way. 

I like to read " From Bach to Wagner," as I enjoy reading of dif- 
ferent composers. Your true reader, Ruth F. 

We heartily thank the young friends whose names here follow, for 
pleasant letters received from them: Kate Ethel C, John Myers, 
Sadie B. Crane, G. M. F., Jamie H., Walter J. Cohen, Stuart 
L. Martin, George Williams, Eddie L. Goodman, Violette T. 
Haines, Lillie M. Grubbs, Freda Nicolai, Eva Wilkins, Miriam 
Ferry, Hortie O'Meara, Anna Ross, Clara Louise Whitney, Con- 
stance and Richard Bigclow, E. R. B., J. H. B., Mary and Gussie, 
Jessie Hiltner, Alberta Stout, Willis Dunning. Nellie E. Stebbins, 
Marion R. Brown, A. W. Smith, Josie and May, Kate G., Hallie 
H. Haines, Johnny B. S., Daisy, Gertie Beidler, Mary M. C, 
Charles L. Baldwin, Kitty Clover, Alice Olney, Emil Harrington, 
Katie M. Cathcart, Arthur F. B., Agnes Hanks, Elizabeth K. 
Stewart, Wade W. Thayer, Brooks Upham, Rosalie, Mamie Fells, 
Florence Lanty, Frank Dearsiyne, Vera Wheeler, Nellie McN. 
Suydam, Elizabeth B. Grumball, Ida Cameron, Ethel Marion 
Walker, Fawn Evans, Alfa P. Tyrrell, H. and A. V. P., G. P. S., 
Clara Moore, F. W. S., Portia, Nellie T, Eva R., Norine, Anna 
M. Lister, Blanche E. Ives, Mary Hicks. " Dolly Varden," Nora 
T C, Natie P. Thompson, Daniel McPhail, Mary E. Seavey, 
Storrs E. E, H. C. J., Edith B., Kittie E. Fogarty, Frank Carman, 
Ruth A., C H. M., Richard D. Bennett. Anne Grey Milieu, Addie 
Rockwell. Laura Smith, Paula Goetz, Katie S. Denholm, Carl M. 
Ruhlen, Thomas McKeone, W. C. T-, Marion Loomis, Alice E. 
Bogert, Gertrude E. S., Julian Granberv, B. M. S., Edward P, 
Irwin, "The Five Friends," T. L., Kate B. Tilley, Irene S. Duer. 
Violet Scath, Florence M. Wickes, E. W. B., May Delany, and 
Bertha Sweet. 



An Engraved Charter for Framing. 

Our attention has been called to the fact that heretofore we have 
sent to our Chapters no charters, or certificates, suitable for framing. 

To remedy this deficiency, we have engaged one of the leading 
firms of New-York City to design a very beautiful A. A, Charter, 
to be handsomely engraved on bond or parchment paper. The 
size of the charter will be about 12 x 18 inches or larger. 

At the top is drawn an open St. Nicholas, showing on one page 
Prof. Agassiz's portrait, and on the other, representations of the 
animal and vegetable kingdoms. 

Above the magazine is our badge, the Swiss Cross ; and below 
is the motto. Per Naturam ad Deum. Then follows the certificate 
proper, handsomely ornamented, bearing the name of the founder of 
the Chapter, the name, number, and letter of the same, and signed 
with the autograph of the President of the A. A. Of course the 
first two hundred impressions — or artist's proofs — are the finest. 
Many members are so pleased with them that they wish to secure 
copies for their individual possession. 

The Class in Mineralogy. 

None of the courses of study we have ever had the pleasure of 
offering to our friends, has had the magnificent success which is 
attending Prof. Crosby's class in mineralogy. At this writing no 
less than eighty-nine pupils are enrolled, and as Chapters usually 
take the course through one representative, this number doubtless 
means that at the least five hundred persons are learning how to 
observe and describe minerals, under most competent instruction. To 
each pupil is sent a set of thirty valuable specimens, and all exercises 
are corrected and returned for revision. Geographically, the class 
extends from Washington Territory to England. 

Reports of Chapters. 

We have to begin again this month, as last, by presenting the 
excellent reports of dilatory Chapters. A little more promptness here- 
after, good secretaries, if you please! 

37, Kingsboro, N. V. By some mischance, your card notifying 
me that our report is due has just come to my notice, and I hasten to 
write, fearing our " candlestick may be removed." Last week three 
of us visited a gold-mine and brought home specimens of rock from 
which gold is obtained, averaging about twenty dollars per ton. 
The rock is dark, fine-grained, and resembles lime-stone. It effer- 
vesces with acid. We have here beautiful specimens of the Azoic 
rocks, and we could make up named collections to exchange for 
other specimens. — W. W. Thomas, Box 711. 

112, So. Boston. We number ten active and three honorary mem- 
bers. During the year we have held twenty-two meetings, with an 
average attendance of eight. In January we gave an entertainment, 
and realized $10.80. In April we endeavored to establish an assem- 
bly of the Chapters in this part of the State, but did not succeed. 

During the year we have studied chemistry, zoology, and astron- 
omy. At one time we visited the Agassiz museum in a bodv, and 
learned a great deal. Having seen now what we can do, I think we 
shall all study harder during the coming year. — Geo. L. Whitehouse, 
37 Gates street. 

[Don't be discouraged ; we shall have a State Assembly in 
Massachusetts before many years.} 

134, De Pere, Wis. We have eighteen members. Our room is 
beginning to look very nicely. We added five new cases last fall. 
We have 1600 geological specimens, — including 1000 fossils, — 600 
minerals, 50 birds, 500 plants. 400 shells, and 100 ethnological speci- 
mens.— A. S. Gilbert. 

153. Chicago (E). At the Exposition here last fall, we had two 
large cases, one containing minerals, the other fossils, which com- 
pared favorably with any in the building, and did much toward 
making our societv known to the throng of visitors. We have added 
new books to our library at no small expense. Our " Paper " is the 
latest addition to our meetings, and contains original articles, clip- 
pings, and the letters received. — Charles T. Mixer. 

164, Jackson, Mich. (B). We have eight members, and expect 
more soon. We all have natural histories of our own. We meet 
once a week, on Monday evening. We had a very pleasant field- 
meeting by Clark's Lake. All our members are interested. — James 
C. Wood. 

168, Buffalo (C). During the summer there were some excur- 
sions, which brought a number of specimens into the hands of our 
curator. With the new year fresh courage has inspired most of us. 
Our prospects are quite bright. We still have our standing com- 
mittees in each department, and these have a report to make nearly 
every week. Every two weeks we have an essay. Our next topic 
is to be " Forests and their Utility." Besides this and the reading 
and discussion of scientific essays, we have our weekly report on 
the current scientific news, and notes and personal observations. 
Chapter K of this city has joined us, and Chapter I thinks of follow- 
ing the example of Chapter K. — Sophie Finkenstaedt. 

187, Albany, N. V. (A). We have found time for occasional meet- 
ing among the heavy requirements of school-life ; and as for myself, I 
find our own back-yard a bewildering field for exploration. We have 
ten active and eleven honorary members. Our meetings are held alter- 
nate Wednesday evenings at the houses of members, and are always 
well attended and interesting. At our next meeting — our second an- 
niversary — a special programme is to be carried out. We are to de- 
bate the comparative usefulness of astronomy and botany ; have an 
extra number of The Naturalist, our MS. paper; scientific essays, 
readings and lectures. Albany A has never been more flourishing. 

— John P. Gavit. 

Third Century. 

215, Tioga Centre, N. V. We have been steadily progressing in 
our department — botany. Last autumn we made asters a specialty, 
and succeeded in collecting and analyzing fourteen species and two 
varieties. We are now ready to exchange promptly. — Angie Lati- 
mer, Sec. 

220, De Pere, Wis. (C.) Chapter C has disbanded. Please scratch 
our number out. — Jessie R. Jackson. 

[But we hope the Chapter will "jump i?ito another bush" so we 
ca?i " scratch them in again ! "] 

234, New York, (G). We have joined Chapter 8 7, New York (B), 

— F. W. Roos, 335 W. 27th street. 

238, Winterset, Iowa. One of our charter members is dead ; one 
is in Oregon ; two are away at college ; one is in Mississippi. In fact, 
there is nothing left of our Chapter. I am sorry, for I think the 
Association work is a very great benefit to the members. — Harry 
C. Wallace. 

[Our correspondent will remember that by our present rules even 
one active member is allowed to maintain the honor, a?id retain 
the number and name 0/ a Chapter once Properly organized. IVe 
shall be disappointed if we do not meet him on the 124th of next 
August, at Davenport, Iowa, as the representative of a reorga?iizcd 
and efficient Chapter.} 

246, Bethlehem, Pa. We are in a very flourishing condition, and 
now have fifteen members. Our cabinet is crowded with specimens, 
all in good condition. We occupy a pleasant room rented by the 




Chapter. We shall enter the coming season with undiminished en- 
thusiasm for the study of Nature. 

248, Richmond, I 'a. An informal meeting was held, and twenty- 
three of us boys were enrolled as members of a Chapter of the A. A. 
We elected our teacher, Miss Jennie Elicit, President. Committees 
were appointed to draft by-laws, build cabinets, etc. Instead of 
forming a new society, Mrs. Marshall has kindly consented to let us 
reorganize Chapter 248. — W. T. Terry, Sec, 109 E. Grace St. 

252, Utica, N. J*. Wc have a most flourishing Chapter of forty- 
seven members. In the past year our school building was enlarged, 
and a room was made purposely to hold our treasures. In it is a 
cabinet overflowing with minerals, shells, and plants, 3 cases full of 
lepidoptera, a forty-dollar microscope, and a cabinet, which the boys 
arc trying to fill with microscopical slides of their own manufacture. 
We have also an aquarium 12 x 24 inches, stocked with fish, newts, 
snails, turtles, etc., also a bird's egg cabinet that will hold several 
hundred specimens, and a Wardia case, 36 x 18 inches, which we 
are now using for hatching chrysalids. At our last meeting a cecropia 
"came out," measuring over six and a half inches across the wings. 
OurChapter is divided into comrnittees,each commit tee havinga teach- 
er for chairman. The committees are expected to furnish each week 
specimens representing their special branches. Of all the subjects 
before us the hardest " nut to crack " was, " What is a sea-bean ? " 
but owing to indomitable perseverance, it has been most thoroughly 

[Please send us the kernel /] 

Agassiz's birthday was duly celebrated in the woods. Speeches 
were made, poems recited, and the rest of the day devoted to a grand 
specimen-hunt. It rained hard all day, but that could not quench 
the fire in this Chapter, and we returned home loaded down with 
treasures. We have shells, mica, and h'Pidoptera for exchange. 
The Chapter desires to express its deepest gratitude to the founder 
of the A. A. for two delightful years. — Frances E. Newland, Sec. 

[Such a delightful report as the one ivhich we have here con- 

deuscd, is more than enough to repay one /or all the labor connect- 
ed with the A. A. The debt of gratitude is on the other side. ] 

254, Fulton, N. Y. We have started a library, and are now 
studying ornithology. Our membership is reduced to three, but all 
are active — Herbert C. Howe. 

[If three active members understand " Reduction Ascending," 
they will soon reduce the membership to a dozen, or mo?r.] 

256, Newton, Upper Falls, Mass. The past year has been one 
of gratifying progress. We number twelve. < >ur meetings are very 
interesting, each member giving an account of some object in his 
branch of study, often illustrating it by the specimen or describing 
some book he has been reading, or relating some recent personal 
experience. At the first meeting of each month a paper called 
Gatherings is read, composed of original records of personal ob- 
servations. Wishing to bring our Chapter and its work to the 
knowledge of our friends, we have held a series of socials at the home 
of one of our members. The first of the evening we have devoted to 
talks and essays by the members of the Chapter, and later we have 
played games, and amused ourselves in other ways. We find this 
plan very beneficial, and have already gained three new members 
and a present of books. — Mrs. J. M. H. Smith. 

\We coimnend this suggestive report to the earnest attention of 
every Chapter. \ 

257, Plantsvillc, Ct. We have made large additions to our col- 
lections. Our library also has been enlarged, and we have now 
nearly 100 volumes. We decide on the subject for each coming 
meeting in this way. Each member writes on a ballot the subject he 
would prefer. The ballots are then shaken in a hat, and the one 
drawn first is our subject. Moreover, the one whose ballot is suc- 
cessful must furnish a paper on that subject, and all the others bring 
short items on the same subject. We closed our last meeting by a 
collation, and singing by our glee club. — A. L. Ely, Box 219. 

260, Mercer, Pa. We have not been idle, and have quite a col- 
lection. We think every Chapter should keep a scrap-book for enter- 
ing reports and clippings. — Mrs. H. M. Magoffin. 

272, West Town, N. Y. — Most of us are attending school away 
from home. We therefore disband through the winter, and then 

reorganize for the summer vacation, and work as much as we can, 
for we have farm work to do besides. Still we can study as we 

work, and we do this. Our minerals are all labeled and mounted. 
We have about 200 birds' eggs, some of them quite rare. Wc pride 
ourselves on our insects. I think we have 300, still am not positive. 
Our botanical specimens number 200. The work we have done, 
though not very great, has done us a great amount of good. — William 
Evans, Sec. 

Some Important Questions. 

Manchkster, Vt. 
I AM extremely anxious to experiment during the coming season 
with the American silk-producing worms, not for the purpose of 
producing raw silk, but for other reasons of scientific and practical 
interest. I wish to leam the best books for giving a knowledge of 
the habits of Attacus Cecropia, Polyphemus, and the Promethean 
moths. I shall be glad of any information regarding the best places 
to find their cocoons. I should like to hear of the experience of 
others in finding cocoons, and raising the moths. I have M. 
Trouvelot's papers on the subject, Dr. Garlick's letters on his experi- 
ments ; also Dr. Stirling's, Prof. Riley's report on Silk Production 
No. 11, Packard's "Our Common Insects," Sir John Lubbock's 
" Origin and Metamorphosis of Insects." I should like the addresses 
of any parties who have cocoons of the said moths to dispose of; 
and finally, information regarding the success or failure of any who 
may have tried the experiment of raising the worms. 

Very truly yours, C. F. Orvis. 

[Mr. Orz>is is a member of the A . A., has been for years engaged 
in an important juan?/facturing Iwsiucss, and we trust may obtain 
from " those who know," all the information he desires.] 


Two thousand square-cut post-marks, all different, in a neat book; 
also 1500 duplicates, for best offer in stone implements. — Laurie H. 
McNeill, Ch. 902, Mobile, Ala. 

Correspondence with amateur egg-collectors desired. Iowa pre- 
ferred. — Oscar Clute, Jr., Iowa City, Iowa. 

American bird-skins and eggs (with data), for English. Also 
mounted microscopical pathological specimens. Lists exchanged. 
— W T m. D. Grier, 49 Gloucester St., Boston, Mass. 

New Chapters. 





Name. No. of Members. 

Hohokus, N. J. (A) 4 

Sioux Falls, Dakota (B) 
Sancelito, Cal. (A) 7 

A ddress. 

Buffalo, N. Y. (L) 12. 

Baltimore, Md 4. 

Seneca Falls (B) 5 

San Francisco, Cal. (J) 4 

Mrs. R. Van Dien, Jr. 
Percy Edmison. 
A. J. Campbell, 

Box 31, Marin Co. 
.Nathan N. Block, 

82 Norris Place. 
Maurice Straus, 

225 Linden Ave. 
. Wm. Hopper. 
.Miss Alice J. Ellis, 

27 So. Park. 
.Chas. Chase, Jr. 
.Fred Stanton, 420 W. 61st St 

948 Prairie Du Chien, Wis. (A) 7. 

949 New York, N. Y. (2) 4 . 


S63 Providence, R. I. (E) Frederic Gorham. 

362 Newport, R. I. (B) 4. .Thomas Crosby, Jr. 

242 Philadelphia (I) J. F. Stevens. 


746 Helena. Montana (A). 
68 Grand Junction, Iowa. 
248 Richmond, Va. (A).. . 

... 8. .Kurt Kleinschmidt, Box 292. 
. . . 2 . . Miss Sarah I. Smith. 
. . .23. . W. T. Terry. 

109 E. Grace St. 

Address all communications for this department to the President 
of the A. A., 

Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, 

Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 





As this number of St. NICHOLAS goes to press nearly a month earlier than usual, the names of solvers of March puzzles can 

not appear until the issue of the June number. 


An Easter Rebus. 

Bid folly fly and sin depart ; 
Keep inviolate your heart ; 
And Easter lilies, pure and fair. 
Will bud and bloom forever there. 
Inverted Pyramid. Across: i. Depopulated. 2. Nominated. 
3. Deluded. 4. Roses. 5. Ten. 6. D. 

St. Andrew's Cross of Diamonds. I. 1. B. 2. Demfand). 
3. Dolor. 4. Belgium. 5. Moist. 6. Rut. 7. M. II. 1. M. 
2. Ham. 3. Huron. 4. Marston. 5. Motor. 6. Nor. 7. N. 
Ill 1. M. 2. Tim. 3. Talon. 4. Million. 5. Moist. 6. Not. 
7. N. IV. 1. M. 2. Sam. 3 Sedan. 4. Madison. 5. Mason. 
6. Non. 7. N. V. 1. N. 2. Tarn. 3. Titus. 4. Natural. 5. 
Murat. 6. Sat. 7. L. 

Word-squares. I. 1. Racer. 2. Agave. 3. Canal. 4. Evade. 
5. Relet. II. 1. Cabal. 2. Above. 3. Bohea. 4. Avers. 5. Least. 
III. 1. Rabid. 2. Atide. 3. Bison. 4. Idols. 5. Dense. 
Pi. Spring, with that nameless pathos in the air 
Which dwells with all things fair; 
Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain, 
Is with us once again. 

Central Acrostic. Arbor Day. Cross-words: 1. slAin. 2. 
stRew. 3. saBot. 4. slOop. 5. stRap. 6. seDan. 7. sinArL 
8. slVly. 

Hour-glass. Centrals, April fool. Cross-words : 1. TartArean. 
2. reaPers. 3. scRew. 4. vie. 5. L. 6. aFt. 7. foOls. 8. 
limOsis. 9. inteLlect. 

Mythological Numerical Enigma. 

1 love to go in the capricious days 
Of April, and hunt violets. 

Connected Double Squares. Upper left-hand square. Across: 
1. Houp. 2. Alto. 3. Ties. 4. Host. Upper right-hand square. 
Across: 1. Pent. 2. Otoe. 3. Suet. 4. Tile. Lower left-hand 
square. Across: 1. Host. 2. Able. 3. Sour. 4. Hern. Lower 
right-hand square. Across: 1. Tile. 2. Eden. 3. Read. 4. 

Bagatelle, i. More haste, less speed. 2. Medicines were not 
meant to live on. 3. He who hides can find. 4. Pride goeth before 
a fall. 5. The absent party is always faulty. 6. A crowd is not 
company. 7. Penny wise, pound foolish. Key-words: haSte, 
meAnt, hiDes, pride, paRty, crOwd, peNny. 

Central letters, sadiron. 


plays. My 6-43-5-26 is location. My 13-75-11-46 is mature. My 
30-60-47-54-41 is what often follows a chill. My 53-36-4-24 is a 
mixture. My 16-39-71-20-66 is used in bread-making. My 37-73- 
65-7-23-27-69-18-56-51 is an allurement. My 32-57-10-15-64-44- 
59-34-48 is a school. harold j. harding. 


Ta emits a iiaftarrn zebree mecos toalfing yb, 

Dan gribsn, uyo wkon ton hwy, 

A lenegif sa hewn agree wordsc twaai 

Freoeb a leapac tage 
Meos dronswrai gapeant : dan ouy scacer loudw tarts, 
Fi form a cheeb's thear 

A buel-yede Drady, pepsting froth, soldhu ays, 
" Hedlob em! I ma Mya ! " 


Each of the words described contains the same number of letters; 
the central letters, transposed, will spell the name of the heroine of 
one of Sir Walter Scott's novels. 

1. Was conspicuous. 2. A hard covering. 3. A citadel. 4. A 
box for fruit. 5. To ward off. 6. A sudden fright. avis. 


This puzzle is based upon one of the Mother Goose rhymes. The 
pictures represent the last word of the six lines of the verse. What 
is the verse '! 


I am composed of seventy-six letters, and am a quotation from 
"Love's Labor Lost." 

My 63-21-58-31 is elevated. My 28-1-42-35 is headstrong. My 
72-45-14-62-25 is on every breakfast table. My 2-19-52 is a fashion- 
able kind of trimming. My 74-40- 55-50-22 is a glossy fabric. My 
33-0-29-8 was the nationality of Othello. My 38-68-70-17-12-76 is 
the name of the 67-3-49-61 of one of Shakspere's most celebrated 

Upper Square: i. To begin. 2. A small drum. 3. Over. 
4. Wanders. 5. A lock of hair. 

Left-hand Square: i. A region. 2. A report. 3. Plentiful. 
4. Plants of ihe cabbage family. 5. A lock of hair. 

Central Square: t. A lock of hair. 2. A black bird. 3. To 
elude. 4. A plant which grows in wet grounds. 5. To scoff. 

Right-hand Square : 1. To scoff. 2. Grand. 3. Declined. 
4. A mournful poem. 5. To color anew. 

Lower Square: 1. To scoff. 2. Mother of pearl. 3. Applause. 
4. One of the Muses, 5. To furnish with a new upper part. 

" HOMER." 





The words forming this numerical enigma are pictured instead of 
described. The answer, consisting of a hundred and one letters, is 
a four-line verse by Bayard Taylor. 


Across: i. Pertaining to a monarch. 2. Entering without 
right- 3. Unmarried women. 4. Unfaithful. Primals, a vapor ; 
centrals, a brown coating ; finals, in a smaller degree. Primals, 
centrals, and finals combined, unsuspicious. F. L. F. 


Across: i. Measurement. 2. Consumes. 3. A chemical sub- 
stance. 4. A sheltered place. 5. In pyramid. Downward: 1. 
In pyramid. 2. Twn-thirds of a girl's name. 3. Mankind. 4. Bad. 
5. Celebrated. 6. Certain. 7. Wrath. 8. A bone. 9. In inverted. 

F. L. F. 


I. Upper Square : 1. Pertaining 
ease peculiar to children. 3. A dwe 
blackbird. 5. A charm. 

II. Left-hand Square: 1. Burned wood, 
deavor to gain possession. 3. The inner part 
heron. 5. A pugilistic encounter. 

III. Right-hand Square: i. An expression of contempt. 

to a certain nymph. 2. A dis- 
'ling-place. 4. The European 

2. A continued en- 
4. The lesser white 

small column without base or capital. 3. Parts of shoes. 4. To 
assign. 5. To squander. 

IV. Lower Square : 1. A term used in playing with balls. 2. A 
sacred vestment. 3. Proper. 4. A fine yellow clay. 5. A 

Centrals, reading downward (eleven letters), an architect who 
builds houses. Centrals, reading across, a mechanical contrivance 
common in cotton-mills. " L. los regni." 


Each of the words described contains the same number of letters. 
The primals will all be of the same letter; the finals will spell a name 
famous in history. 

1. A small shell-fish. 2. An emblem. 3. A common plant having 
a scarlet blossom. 4. To weaken. 5. A specter. 6. An afternoon 
nap. 7. A leap. 8. Unassuming. 9. A violent effort. 10. Irony. 
11. A channel. "juventcs." 


I. Diamond: 1. In soles. 2. To touch lightly. 3. Satisfies. 
4. A beverage. 5. In soles. Included word-square: 1. To touch 
lightly. 2. Consumed. 3. A beverage. 

II. Diamond: 1. In strife. 2. To touch lightly. 3. Much talked 
of in railway offices. 4. An inclosure. 5. In strife. Included 
word-square: 1. To touch lightly. 2. A verb. 3. An inclosure. 

III. Diamond: 1. In youthful. 2. The cry of a certain animal. 
3. A mythical being. 4. Skill. 5. In youthful. Included word- 
square: 1. The cry of a certain animal. 2. Gaseous substance. 



The central letters, reading downward, spell the name of a very 
prominent personage. 

Cross-words: i. Pleasing to the taste. 2. A substance similar 
to varnish. 3. An imp. 4. The name of a character in " Uncle 
Tom's Cabin." 5. In decorations. 6. Sick. 7. Resources. 8. To 
call by the wrong name. g. Gives too many doses to. 

" D. I. VER5ITV." 


The letters of each of the words described may all be found in the 

Word NAMER. 

1. A girl's name. 2. Close at hand. 3'. A cognomen. 4. Surface. 




Vol. XIII. JUNE, 1886. No. 8. 

[Copyright, 1886, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By Emily Huntington Miller. 

Heigh-ho ! What frolics we might see, 
If it only had happened to you and me 
To be born in some beautiful far-off clime, 
In the country of Somewhere, once-on-a-time ! 

Why, once-on-a-time there were mountains of gold, 

And cans full of jewels, and treasures untold ; 

There were birds just waiting to fly before 

And show you the way to the magical door. 

And, under a tree, there was sure to be 

A queer little woman to give you the key ; 

And a tiny, dancing, good-natured elf, 

To say, with his scepter: "Help yourself!" 

For millions of dollars grew from a dime 

In the country of Somewhere, once-on-a-time. 

If we lived in the country of Somewhere, you 

Could do whatever you chose to do. 

Instead of a boy, with the garden to weed, 

You might be a knight, with a sword and a steed. 

Instead of a girl, with a towel to hem, 

I might be a princess, with robe and gem ; 

With a gay little page, and a harper old, 

Who knew all the stories that ever were told, — 

Stories in prose, and stories in rhyme, 

That happened somewhere, once-on-a-time. 

In the country of Somewhere, no one looks 
At maps and blackboards and grammar books ; 
For all your knowledge just grows and grows, 
Like the song in a bird, or the sweet in a rose. 
And if ever I chance, on a fortunate day, 
To that wonderful region to find my way, 
Why then, if the stories all are true, 
As quick as I can, I '11 come for you, 
And we '11 row away to its happy shores, 
In a silver shallop with golden oars. 

5 6 4 



By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

Chapter VIII. 

Lord Dorincourt had occasion to wear his 
grim smile many a time as the days passed by. In- 
deed, as his acquaintance with his grandson pro- 
gressed, he wore the smile so often that there were 
moments when it almost lost its grimness. There 
is no denying that before Lord Fauntleroy had 
appeared on the scene, the old man had been 
growing very tired of his loneliness and his gout 
and his seventy years. After so long a life of 
excitement and amusement, it was not agreeable 
to sit alone even in the most splendid room, with 
one foot on a gout-stool, and with no other diver- 
sion than flying into a rage, and shouting at a 
frightened footman who hated the sight of him. 
The old Earl was too clever a man not to know 
perfectly well that his servants detested him, and 
that even if he had visitors, they did not come for 
love of him — though some found a sort of amuse- 
ment in his sharp, sarcastic talk, which spared 
no one. So long as he had been strong and well, 
he had gone from one place to another, pretending 
to amuse himself, though he had not really enjoyed 
it ; and when his health began to fail, he felt tired 
of everything and shut himself up at Dorincourt, 
with his gout and his newspapers and his books. 
But he could not read all the time, and he became 
more and more " bored," as he called it. He hated 
the long nights and days, and he grew more and 
more savage and irritable. And then Fauntleroy 
came ; and when the Earl saw the lad, fortunately 
for the little fellow, the secret pride of the grand- 
father was gratified at the outset. If Cedric had 
been a less handsome little fellow the old man 
might have taken so strong a dislike to the boy 
that he would not have given himself the chance 
to see his grandson's finer qualities. But he chose 
to think that Cedric's beauty and fearless spirit 
were the results of the Dorincourt blood and a 
credit to the Dorincourt rank. And then when he 
heard the lad talk, and saw what a well bred little 
fellow he was, notwithstanding his boyish ignorance 
of all that his new position meant, the old Earl 
liked his grandson more, and actually began to 
find himself rather entertained. It had amused 
him to give into those childish hands the power 
to bestow a benefit on poor Higgins. My lord 
cared nothing for poor Higgins, but it pleased 
him a little to think that his grandson would be 
talked about by the country people and would 

begin to be popular with the tenantry, even in his 
childhood. Then it had gratified him to drive to 
church with Cedric and to see the excitement and 
interest caused by the arrival. He knew how the 
people would speak of the beauty of the little lad; 
of his fine, strong, straight little body; of his erect 
bearing, his handsome face, and his bright hair, 
and how they would say (as the Earl had heard 
one woman exclaim to another) that the boy was 
" every inch a lord." My lord of Dorincourt was 
an arrogant old man, proud of his name, proud of 
his rank, and therefore proud to show the world 
that at last the House of Dorincourt had an heir 
who was worthy of the position he was to fill. 

The morning the new pony had been tried, the 
Earl had been so pleased that he had almost for- 
gotten his gout. When the groom had brought 
out the pretty creature, which arched its brown, 
glossy neck and tossed its fine head in the sun, the 
Earl had sat at the open window of the library and 
had looked on while Fauntleroy took his first rid- 
ing lesson. He wondered if the boy would show 
signs of timidity. It was not a very small pony, 
and he had often seen children lose courage in 
making their first essay at riding. 

Fauntleroy mounted in great delight. He had 
never been on a pony before, and he was in the 
highest spirits. Wilkins, the groom, led the animal 
by the bridle up and down before the library 

"He 's a well plucked un, he is," Wilkins re- 
marked in the stable afterward with many grins. 
" It were n't no trouble to put him up. An' a old 
un would n't ha' sat any straighter when he were 
up. He ses — ses he to me, ' Wilkins,' he ses, 
' am I sitting up straight ? They sit up straight 
at the circus,' ses he. An' I ses, ' As straight 
as a arrer, your lordship ! ' — an' he laughs, as 
pleased as could be, an' he ses, ' That 's right,' 
he ses, ' you tell me if I don't sit up straight, 
Wilkins ! ' " 

But sitting up straight and being led at a walk 
were not altogether and completely satisfactory. 
After a few minutes, Fauntleroy spoke to his grand- 
father — watching him from the window : 

" Can't I go by myself? " he asked ; " and can't 
I go faster ? The boy on Fifth Avenue used to 
trot and canter ! " 

" Do you think you could trot and canter ? " said 
the Earl. 

" I should like to try," answered Fauntleroy. 



His lordship made a sign to Wilkins, who at " I 'm ri-rising all the t-time," said Fauntleroy. 
the signal brought up his own horse and mounted He was both rising and falling rather uncom- 
it and took Fauntleroy's pony by the leading-rein, fortably and with many shakes and bounces. He 

" Now," said the Earl, " let him trot." -.,.-:-. 

The next few minutes were rather exciting to .. \ 5 .....~ • ,:.'.' ••" .', \ 

the small equestrian. He found that trotting i . s' '^v-ti 

was not so easy as walking, and the faster the 
pony trotted, the less easy it was. 

" It j-jolts a g-goo-good deal — do-does 
n't it ? " he said to Wilkins. " D-does it 
j-jolt y-you ? " 



"No, my lord," answered Wilkins. "You'll was out of breath and his face grew red, but he 
get used to it in time. Rise in your stirrups." held on with all his might, and sat as straight as 

5 66 



he could. The Earl could see that from his window. 
When the riders came back within speaking dis- 
tance, after they had been hidden by the trees a 
few minutes, Fauntleroy's hat was off, his cheeks 
were like poppies, and his lips were set, but he 
was still trotting manfully. 

" Stop a minute ! " said his grandfather. 
" Where 's your hat ? " 

Wilkins touched his. " It fell off, your lord- 
ship," he said, with evident enjoyment. " Would 
n't let me stop to pick it up, my lord." 

" Not much afraid, is he ?" asked the Earl, dryly. 

" Him, your lordship ! " exclaimed Wilkins. " I 
should n't say as he knowed what it meant. I 've 
taught young gen'lemen to ride afore, an' I never 
see one stick on more determin'der." 

" Tired?" said the Earl to Fauntleroy. " Want 
to get off? " 

" It jolts you more than you think it will," ad- 
mitted his young lordship frankly. " And it tires 
you a little, too; but I don't want to get off. I 
want to learn how. As soon as I 've got my breath 
I want to go back for the hat." 

The cleverest person in the world, if he had 
undertaken to teach Fauntleroy how to please the 
old man who watched him, could not have taught 
him anything which would have succeeded better. 
As the pony trotted off again toward the avenue, 
a faint color crept up in the fierce old face, and the 
eyes, under the shaggy brows, gleamed with a pleas- 
ure such as his lordship had scarcely expected to 
know again. And he sat and watched quite eagerly 
until the sound of the horses' hoofs returned. 
When they did come, which was after some time, 
they came at a faster pace. Fauntleroy's hat was 
still off ; Wilkins was carrying it for him; his cheeks 
were redder than before, and his hair was flying 
about his ears, but he came at quite a brisk canter. 

" There ! " he panted, as they drew up, " I c-can- 
tered. I did n't do it as well as the boy on Fifth 
Avenue, but I did it, and I stayed on ! " 

He and Wilkins and the pony were close friends 
after that. Scarcely a day passed in which the 
country people did not see them out together, 
cantering gayly on the highroad or through the 
green lanes. The children in the cottages would 
run to the door to look at the proud little brown 
pony with the gallant little figure sitting so straight 
in the saddle, and the young lord would snatch off 
his cap and swing it at them, and shout, " Hullo ! 
Good morning!" in a very unlordly manner, 
though with great heartiness. Sometimes he 
would stop and talk with the children, and once 
Wilkins came back to the castle with a story of 
how Fauntleroy had insisted on dismounting near 
the village school, so that a boy who was lame and 
•ired might ride home on his pony. 

"An' I 'm blessed," said Wilkins, in telling the 
story at the stables, — " I 'm blessed if he 'd hear 
of anything else ! He would n't let me get down, 
because he said the boy might n't feel comfortable 
on a big horse. An' ses he, ' Wilkins,' ses he, 
' that boy 's lame and I 'm not, and I want to talk 
to him, too.' And up the lad has to get, and my 
lord trudges alongside of him with his hands in 
his pockets, and his cap on the back of his head, 
a-whistling and talking as easy as you please ! And 
when we come to the cottage, an' the boy's mother 
come out all in a taking to see what 's up, he whips 
off his cap an' ses he, ' I 've brought your son home, 
ma'am,' ses he, ' because his leg hurt him, and I 
don't think that stick is enough for him to lean on ; 
and I 'm going to ask my grandfather to have a pair 
of crutches made for him. ' An' I 'm blessed if the 
woman was n't struck all of aheap, as well she might 
be ! I thought I should 'a' hex-plodid, myself ! " 

When the Earl heard the story, he was not 
angry, as Wilkins had been half afraid that he 
would be; on the contrary, he laughed outright, 
and called Fauntleroy up to him, and made him tell 
all about the matter from beginning to end, and 
then he laughed again. And actually, a few days 
later, the Dorincourt carriage stopped in the 
green lane before the cottage where the lame boy 
lived, and Fauntleroy jumped out and walked up 
to the door, carrying a pair of strong, light, new 
crutches, shouldered like a gun, and presented 
them to Mrs. Hartle {the lame boy's name was 
Hartle) with these words: "My grandfather's 
compliments, and if you please, these are for your 
boy, and we hope he 'will get better." 

" I said your compliments," he explained to the 
Earl when he returned to the carriage. " You 
did n't tell me to, but I thought, perhaps, you 
forgot. That was right, was n't it? " 

And the Earl laughed again, and did not 
say it was not. In fact, the two were becom- 
ing more intimate every day, and every day 
Fauntleroy's faith in his lordship's benevolence 
and virtue increased. He had no doubt whatever 
that his grandfather was the most amiable and 
generous of elderly gentlemen. Certainly, he him- 
self found his wishes gratified almost before they 
were uttered ; and such gifts and pleasures were 
lavished upon him, that he was sometimes almost 
bewildered by his own possessions. Apparently, 
he was to have everything he wanted, and to do 
everything he wished to do. And though this would 
certainly not have been a very wise plan to pursue 
with all small boys, his young lordship bore it 
amazingly well. Perhaps, notwithstanding his 
sweet nature, he might have been somewhat 
spoiled by it, if it had not been for the hours he 
spent with his mother at Court Lodge. That "best 



friend " of his watched over him very closely and 
tenderly. The two had many long talks together, 
and he never went back to the castle with her 
kisses on his cheeks without carrying in his heart 
some simple, pure words worth remembering. 

There was one thing, it is true, which puzzled 
the little fellow very much. He thought over the 
mystery of it much oftener than anyone supposed ; 
even his mother did not know how often he pon- 
dered on it; the Earl for a long time never sus- 
pected that he did so at all. But being quick to 
observe, the little boy could not help wondering 
why it was that his mother and grandfather never 
seemed to meet. He had noticed that they never 
did meet. When the Dorincourt carriage stopped 
at Court Lodge, the Earl never alighted, and on the 
rare occasions of his lordship's going to church, 
Fauntleroy was always left to speak to his mother 
in the porch alone, or perhaps to go home with her. 
And yet, every day, fruit and flowers were sent to 
Court Lodge from the hot-houses at the castle. 
But the one virtuous action of the Earl's which 
had set him upon the pinnacle of perfection in 
Cedric's eyes, was what he had done soon after 
that first Sunday when Mrs. Errol had walked 
home from church unattended. About a week 
later, when Cedric was going one day to visit his 
mother, he found at the door, instead of the large 
carriage and prancing pair, a pretty little brougham 
and a handsome bay horse. 

" That is a present from you to your mother," 
the Earl said abruptly. " She can not go walking 
about the country. She needs a carriage. The 
man who drives will take charge of it. It is a 
present from you." 

Fauntleroy's delight could but feebly express 
itself. He could scarcely contain himself until he 
reached the lodge. His mother was gathering 
roses in the garden. He Hung himself out of the 
little brougham and flew to her. 

" Dearest !" he cried, "could you believe it? 
This is yours! He says it is a present from me. 
It is your own carriage to drive everywhere in ! " 

He was so happy that she did not know what to 
say. She could not have borne to spoil his pleas- 
ure by refusing to accept the gift even though it came 
from the man who chose to consider himself her 
enemy. She was obliged to step into the carriage, 
roses and all, and let herself be taken to drive, 
while Fauntleroy told her stories of his grand- 
father's goodness and amiability. They were such 
innocent stories that sometimes she could not help 
laughing a little, and then she would draw her 
little boy closer to her side and kiss him, feeling 
glad that he could see only good in the old man 
who had so few friends. 

The very next day after that, Fauntleroy wrote 

to Mr. Hobbs. He wrote quite a long letter, and 
after the first copy was written, he brought it to 
his grandfather to be inspected. 

" Because," he said, " it s so uncertain about 
the spelling. And if you '11 tell me the mistakes, 
I '11 write it out again." 

This was what he had written : 

" My dear mr hobbs i want to tell you about my granfarther he 
is the best earl you ever new it is a mistake about earls being tirents 
he is not a tirent at all i wish you new him you would be good 
frends i am sure you would he has the gout in his foot and is 
a grate sufrer but he is so pashent i love him more every day 
becaus no one could help loving an earl like that who is kind 
to every one in this world i wish you could talk to him he 
knows everything in the world you can ask him any question but he 
has never plaid base ball he has given me a pony and a cart and my 
mamma a bewtifle carige and I have three rooms and toys of all kinds 
it would serprise you you would like the castle and the park it is such 
a large castle you could lose yourself wilkins tells me wilkins 
is my groom he says there is a dungon under the castle it is so 
pretty every thing in the park would serprise you there are such big 
trees and there are deers and rabbits and games flying about in the 
cover my granfarther is very rich but he is not proud and orty as 
you thought earls always were i like to be with him the people are 
so polite and kind they take of their hats to you and the women 
make curtsies and sometimes say god bless you i can ride now but 
at first it shook me when i troted my granfarther let a poor man 
stay on his farm when he could not pay his rent and mrs mellon 
went to take wine and things to his sick children i should like to see 
you and i wish dearest could live at the castle but I am very happy 
when i dont miss her too much and i love my granfarther every 
one does plees write soon 

" your afechshnet old frend 

"Cedric Errol 

"ps no one is in the dungon my granfarther never had any one 
langwishin in there 

"ps heissucha good earl heremindsme of youhe is aunerversle 
favrit " 

" Do you miss your mother very much ?" asked 
the Earl when he had finished reading this. 

" Yes," said Fauntleroy, " I miss her all the 

He went and stood before the Earl and put his 
hand on his knee looking up at him. 

" You don't miss her, do you ?" he said. 

"I don't know her," answered his lordship 
rather crustily. 

" I know that," said Fauntleroy, " and that 's 
what makes me wonder. She told me not to ask 
you any questions, and — and I wont, but sometimes 
I can't help thinking, you know, and it makes 
me all puzzled. But I 'm not going to ask any 
questions. And when I miss her very much, I go 
and look out of my window to where I see her light 
shine for me every night through an open place 
in the trees. It is a long way off, but she puts it 
in her window as soon as it is dark and I can see 
it twinkle far away, and I know what it says." 

" What does it say ? " asked my lord. 

"It says, 'Good-night, God keep you all the 
night ! ' — just what she used to say when we were to- 
gether. Every night she used to say that to me, and 
every morning she said, 'God bless you all the day !" 
So you see I am quite safe all the time " 

5 68 



" Quite, I have no doubt," said his lordship 
dryly. And he drew down his beetling eyebrows 
and looked at the little boy so fixedly and so long 
that Fauntleroy wondered what he could be think- 
ing of. 

Chapter IX. 

The fact was, his lordship the Earl of Dorin- 
court thought in those days, of many things of 
which he had never thought before, and all his 
thoughts were in one way or another connected 
with his grandson. His pride was the strongest 
part of his nature, and the boy gratified it at every 
point. Through this pride he began to find a new 
interest in life. He began to take pleasure in 
showing his heir to the world. The world had 
known of his disappointment in his sons ; so there 
was an agreeable touch of triumph in exhibiting 
this new Lord Fauntleroy, who could disappoint no 
one. He wished the child to appreciate his own 
power and to understand the splendor of his posi- 
tion ; he wished that others should realize it too. 
He made plans for his future. Sometimes in secret 
he actually found himself wishing that his own 
past life had been a better one, and that there had 
been less in it that this pure, childish heart would 
shrink from if it knew the truth. It was not agree- 
able to think how the beautiful, innocent face 
would look if its owner should be made by any 
chance to understand that his grandfather had been 
called for many a year " the wicked Earl of Dorin- 
court." The thought even made him feel a trifle 
nervous. He did not wish the boy to find it out. 
Sometimes in this new interest he forgot his gout, 
and after a while his doctor was surprised to find his 
noble patient's health growing better than he had 
expected it ever would be again. Perhaps the 
Earl grew better because the time did not pass so 
slowly for him, and he had something to think of 
beside his pains and infirmities. 

One fine morning, people were amazed to see 
little Lord Fauntleroy riding his pony with another 
companion than Wilkins. This new companion 
rode a tall, powerful gray horse, and was no other 
than the Earl himself. It was, in fact, Fauntleroy 
who had suggested this plan. As he had been on 
the point of mounting his pony he had said rather 
wistfully to his grandfather : 

" I wish you were going with me. When I go 
away I feel lonely because you are left all byyourself 
in such a big castle. I wish you could ride too." 

And the greatest excitement had been aroused 
in the stables a few minutes later by the arrival of 
an order that Selim was to be saddled for the Earl. 
After that, Selim was saddled almost every day ; 
and the people became accustomed to the sight of 
the tall gray horse carrying the tall gray old man, 

with his handsome, fierce, eagle face, by the side 
of the brown pony which bore little Lord Faun- 
tleroy. And in their rides together through the 
green lanes and pretty country roads, the two riders 
became more intimate than ever. And gradually 
the old man heard a great deal about " Dearest" 
and her life. As Fauntleroy trotted by the big 
horse he chatted gayly. There could not well have 
been a brighter little comrade, his nature was so 
happy. It was he who talked the most. The 
Earl often was silent, listening and watching the 
joyous, glowing face. Sometimes he would tell his 
young companion to set the pony off at a gallop, 
and when the little fellow dashed off, sitting so 
straight and fearless, he would watch the boy 
with a gleam of pride and pleasure in his eyes ; 
and Fauntleroy, when, after such a dash, he came 
back waving his cap with a laughing shout, always 
felt that he and his grandfather were very good 
friends indeed. 

One thing that the Earl discovered was that his 
son's wife did not lead an idle life. It was not 
long before he learned that the poor people knew 
her very well indeed. When there was sickness or 
sorrow or poverty in any house, the little brougham 
often stood before the door. 

"Do you know," said Fauntleroy once, "they all 
say, ' God bless you ' ! when they see her, and the 
children are glad. There are some who go to her 
house to be taught to sew. She says she feels so 
rich now that she wants to help the poor ones." 

It had not displeased the Earl to find that the 
mother of his heir had a beautiful young face and 
looked as much like a lady as if she had been a 
duchess, and in one way it did not displease him 
to know that she was popular and beloved by the 
poor. And yet he was often conscious of a hard, 
jealous pang when he saw how she filled her child's 
heart and how the boy clung to her as his best 
beloved. The old man would have desired to 
stand first himself and have no rival. 

That same morning he drew up his horse on an 
elevated point of the moor over which they rode, 
and made a gesture with his whip, over the broad, 
beautiful landscape spread before them. 

" Do you know that all that land belongs to 
me ? " he said to Fauntleroy. 

"Does it?" answered Fauntleroy. "How much 
it is to belong to one person, and how beautiful ! " 

" Do you know that some day it will all belong 
to you — that and a great deal more ? " 

"To me!" exclaimed Fauntleroy in rather an 
awe-stricken voice. " When ? " 

" When I am dead," his grandfather answered. 

"Then I don't want it," said Fauntleroy; "I 
want you to live always." 

" That 's kind," answered the Earl in his dry 



way; "nevertheless, some day it will all be yours very rich; that if any one had so many things 

— some day you will be the Earl of Dorincourt." always, one might sometimes forget that everyone 

Little Lord Fauntleroy sat very still in his saddle else was not so fortunate, and that one who is rich 

for a few moments. He looked over the broad should always be careful and try to remember. I 

moors, the green farms, the beautiful copses,'the cot- was talking to her about how good you were, and 

tages in the lanes, the pretty village, and over the she said that was such a good thing, because an 


trees to where the turrets of the great castle rose, 
gray and stately. Then he gave a queer little sigh. 

" What are you thinking of?" asked the Earl. 

" I am thinking," replied Fauntleroy, " what a 
little boy I am ! and of what Dearest said to me." 

" What was it ?" inquired the Earl. 

" She said that perhaps it was not so easy to be 

earl had so much power, and if he cared only 
about his own pleasure and never thought about 
the people who lived on his lands, they might have 
trouble that he could help — and there were so 
many people, and it would be such a hard thing. 
And I was just looking at all those houses, and 
thinking how I should have to find out about the 




people, when I was an earl. How did you find 
out about them?" 

As his lordship's knowledge of his tenantry con- 
sisted in finding out which of them paid their rent 
promptly, and in turning out those who did not, 
this was rather a hard question. "Newick finds 
out for me," he said, and he pulled his great gray 
mustache, and looked at his small questioner 
rather uneasily. " We will go home now," he 
added; " and when you are an earl, see to it 
that you are a better one than I have been ! " 

He was very silent as they rode home. He felt 
it to be almost incredible that he, who had never 
really loved any one in his life, should find himself 
growing so fond of this little fellow, — as without 
doubt he was. At first he had only been pleased 
and proud of Cedric's beauty and bravery, but there 
was something more than pride in his feeling now. 
He laughed a grim, dry laugh all to himself some- 
times, when he thought how he liked to have the 
boy near him, how he liked to hear his voice, and 
how in secret he really wished to be liked and 
thought well of by his small grandson. 

"I 'm an old fellow in my dotage, and I have 
nothing else to think of." he would say to himself; 
and yet he knew it was not that altogether. And if 
he had allowed himself to admit the truth, he would 
perhaps have found himself obliged to own that 
the very things which attracted him, in spite of 
himself, were the qualities he had never possessed 
— the frank, true, kindly nature, the affectionate 
trustfulness which could never think evil. 

It was only about a week after that ride when, 
after a visit to his mother, Fauntleroy came into 
the library with a troubled, thoughtful face. He 
sat down in that high-backed chair in which he had 
sat on the evening of his arrival, and for a while he 
looked at the embers on the hearth. The Earl 
watched him in silence, wondering what was com- 
ing. It was evident that Cedric had something on 
his mind. At last he looked up. " Does Newick 
know all about the people ?" he asked. 

" It is his business to know about them," said 
his lordship. " Been neglecting it — has he ? " 

Contradictory as it may seem, there was nothing 
which entertained and edified him more than the 
little fellow's interest in his tenantry. He had 
never taken any interest in them himself, but it 
pleased him well enough that, with all his childish 
habits of thought and in the midst of all his childish 
amusements and high spirits, there should be such 
a quaint seriousness working in the curly head. 

"There is a place," said Fauntleroy, looking 
up at him with wide-open, horror-stricken eyes — 
" Dearest has seen it ; it is at the other end of the 
village. The houses are close together, and almost 
falling down ; you can scarcely breathe ; and the 

people are so poor, and everything is dreadful ! 
Often they have fever, and the children die ; and 
it makes them wicked to live like that, and be so 
poor and miserable ! It is worse than Michael and 
Bridget! ' The rain comes in at the roof! Dearest 
went to see a poor woman who lived there. She 
would not let me come near her until she had 
changed all her things. The tears ran down her 
cheeks when she told me about it ! " 

The tears had come into his own eyes, but he 
smiled through them. 

" I told her you did n't know, and I would tell 
you," he said. He jumped down and came and 
leaned against the Earl's chair. "You can make 
it all right," he said, "just as you made it all right 
for Higgins. You always make it all right for every- 
body. I told her you would, and that Newick must 
have forgotten to tell you." 

The Earl looked down at the hand on his knee. 
Newick had not forgotten to tell him ; in fact, New- 
ick had spoken to him more than once of the des- 
perate condition of the end of the village known as 
Earl's Court. He knew all about the tumble-down, 
miserable cottages, and the bad drainage, and the 
damp walls and broken windows and leaking roofs, 
and all about the poverty, the fever, and the misery. 
Mr. Mordaunt had painted it all to him in the 
strongest words he could use, and his lordship had 
used violent language in response ; and, when his 
gout had been at the worst, he had said that the 
sooner the people of Earl's Court died and were 
buried by the parish the better it would be, — and 
there was an end of the matter. And yet, as he 
looked at the small hand on his knee, and from 
the small hand to the honest, earnest, frank-eyed 
face, he was actually a little ashamed both of 
Earl's Court and of himself. 

"What ! " he said; "you want to make a builder 
of model cottages of me, do you?" And he posi- 
tively put his own hand upon the childish one and 
stroked it. 

" Those must be pulled down," said Fauntleroy, 
with great eagerness. " Dearest says so. Let 
us — let us go and have them pulled down to- 
morrow. The people will be so glad when they see 
you ! They '11 know you have come to help them ! " 
And his eyes shone like stars in his glowing face. 

The Earl rose from his chair and put his hand 
on the child's shoulder. " Let us go out and take 
our walk on the terrace," he said, with a short 
laugh; "and we can talk it over." 

And though he laughed two or three times 
again, as they walked to and fro on the broad 
stone terrace, where they walked together almost 
every fine evening, he seemed to be thinking of 
something which did not displease him, and still he 
kept his hand on his small companion's shoulder. 

(To 6c continued. ) 




By Helen Gray Cone. 

Oh, gold-green wings, and bronze-green wings, 
And rose-tinged wings, that down the breeze 
Come sailing from the maple-trees ! 

You showering things, you shimmering things, 

That June-time always brings ! 

Oh, are you seeds that seek the earth, 
The shade of lovely leaves to spread ? 

Or shining angels, that had birth 
When kindly words were said ? 

Oh, downy dandelion-wings, 

Wild-floating wings, like silver spun, 
That dance and glisten in the sun ! 

You airy things, you elfin things, 

That June-time always brings ! 

Oh, are you seeds that seek the earth, 
The light of laughing flowers to spread? 

Or flitting fairies, that had birth 
When merry words were said ? 

BESSIE: "that means no more school till cold weather comes! mv teacher said so!" 




By Frank R. Stockton. 



We have already been in Paris, but we saw very 
little of it, as we were merely passing through the 
city on our way to the south of France ; and my 
youngcompanions should not go home without form- 
ing an acquaintance with a city which, on account 
of its importance and unrivaled attractiveness, may 
be called the queen city of the world, just as London, 
with its wealth, its size, and its influence, which is 
felt all over our globe, is the king of cities. In 
Rome, and in other cities of Italy, we have seen 
what Europe used to be, both in ancient times and 
in the Middle Ages ; but there is no one place 
which will show us so well what Europe is to-day, 
as Paris. 

It is an immense city, being surrounded by ram- 
parts twenty-one miles long, and is full of broad and 
handsome streets, magnificent buildings, grand 
open spaces with fountains and statues, great pub- 
lic gardens and parks free to everybody, and (what 
is more attractive to some people than anything 
else) it has miles and miles of stores and shops, 
which are filled with the most beautiful and interest- 
ing things that are made or found in any part of 
the world. All these articles are arranged and 
displayed so artistically, that people buy things in 
Paris which they would never think of buying any- 
where else, simply because they had never before 
noticed how desirable such things were. But, 
even if we do not wish to spend any money, we can 
still enjoy the rare and beautiful objects for which 
Paris is famous ; they are nearly all in the shop 
windows, and we can walk about and admire them 
for nothing and as much as we please. 

In many respects Paris is as lively as Naples ; as 
grand as Rome ; as beautiful, but in a different 
way, as Venice ; almost as rich in remains of the 
Middle Ages as Florence ; and yet, after all, it 
will remind you of none of those cities. 

Before we visit any particular place in Paris, 
we shall start out to explore the city as a whole ; 
although I do not mean to say that we shall go 
over the whole of the city. Those of us who 
choose will walk, and that is the best way to see 
Paris, for we are continually meeting with some- 
thing that we wish to stop and look at; but such 
as do not wish to take so long a walk may ride in 
the voitures, or public carriages, which abound in 

the streets of Paris. In fine weather, these are 
convenient little open vehicles, intended to carry 
two persons, though more can be sometimes ac- 
commodated. They can be hired for two francs 
(about forty cents) an hour, with the addition of a 
small sum called a pour-boirc, to which the driver is 
by custom entitled. Nearly everywhere we may see 
empty voitures, their drivers looking out for custom- 
ers. When we want one, we do not call for it, nor 
do we stand on the curbstone and whistle, as if we 
were stopping a Fifth Avenue stage : If no driver 
sees us so that we can beckon to him, we follow 
the Parisian custom, and going to the edge of the 
pavement, give a strong hiss between our closed 
teeth. Instantly the nearest cocker, or driver, pulls 
up his horse and looks about him to see where 
that hiss comes from, and when he sees us, he 
comes around with a sweep in front of us. 

The river Seine runs through Paris, and winds 
and doubles so much that there are seven miles 
of it within the city walls. It is crossed by twenty- 
seven bridges, and from one of these, the Pont de la 
Concorde, we shall start on our tour through Paris. 
The upper part of this bridge is built of stones 
taken from the Bastille prison after its destruction 
by the enraged people. Thus the Parisians can 
feel, when they cross this bridge, that they are 
treading under foot a portion of the building they 
so greatly abhorred. The view up and down the 
river is very fine, and gives us a good idea of the 
city we are about to explore. As we cross to the 
northern side of the Seine, on which lies the most 
important part of Paris, we have directly in front 
of us, the great Place de la Concorde, a fine open 
square, in the center of which rises an obelisk 
brought from Egypt. Here are magnificent foun- 
tains, handsome statuary on tall pedestals, and 
crowds of vehicles and foot-passengers crossing it 
in every direction, making a picturesque and 
lively scene. This was not always as pleasant a 
place as it is now, for during the great French Revo- 
lution the guillotine stood in this square, and here 
were executed two thousand eight hundred persons, 
among whom were Queen Marie Antoinette and 
her husband, Louis XVI. To the east of this 
square extends for a long distance the beautiful 
garden of the Tuileries, which belonged to the 
royal palace of that name, before it was destroyed. 
This garden is shaded by long lines of trees, and 
adorned with fountains and statues. On its southern 
side is an elevated walk, or terrace, very broad and. 



handsome, and about half a mile long. In the 
reign of the Emperor Napoleon the Third, this 
walk was appropriated to the daily exercise of the 
Prince Imperial. Here the young fellow could 
walk up and down without being interfered with 
by the people below ; and underneath was a cov- 
ered passage in which he could take long walks in 
rainy weather. 

On the other side of the great square extends a 
broad and magnificent street, a mile and a third in 

wished to humiliate the French people, they could 
not have thought of a better plan. But the French 
people whom we now see here on fine afternoons 
do not look at all humiliated. They walk about 
under the trees ; they sit upon the thousands of 
prettily painted iron chairs which are hired out at 
two cents apiece for a whole day ; they drive up 
and down in the finest carriages that money can 
buy; and, so far as we can discover by looking at 
them, they are as well content and have as good 




length, called the Avenue des Champs Elysees. 
On each side, for nearly half a mile, this street is 
bordered by pleasure-grounds, beautifully laid out 
and planted with trees ; and for the rest of the way 
it runs between two double rows of trees to the 
great Arch of Triumph, built by Napoleon Bona- 
parte to commemorate his victories. This arch is 
like those erected by the Roman emperors, and is 
covered with inscriptions and sculptures recording 
the glorious achievements of the great Napoleon. 
When Paris was taken by the Prussians in the 
war of 1871, the German army marched into the 
city through this arch of triumph ; and if they 

an opinion of themselves as any people in the 
world. The pavement of the street and that of 
the great square is as smooth as a floor, and kept 
very neat and clean. This is the case indeed 
in nearly all the principal streets of Paris, and 
it is a pleasure to drive over their smooth and 
even pavements. But after a rain it is not so 
agreeable to walk across these streets, which are 
then covered with a coating of very sticky white 

On the northern side of the square is a handsome 
street of moderate length, called the Rue Royale. 
It is filled with fine shops, and is very animated 




and lively. At its upper end stands the beautiful 
church of the Madeleine, fashioned like a Grecian 
temple. We go up this street, and when we reach 
the broad space about the Madeleine, part of 
which is occupied as a flower-market, with long 
lines of booths crowded with many varieties of 
blossoms and plants, we find ourselves at the be- 
ginning of the magnificent line of streets, which 

show-windows full of beautiful objects will con- 
tinually attract our attention, they can not keep 
our eyes from the wonderful life and activity of the 
streets. The broad sidewalks, of course, are crowded 
with people, though no more than we often meet on 
Broadway, m New York, but the throng is pecu- 
liar because it is made up of such a variety of 
people who seem to be doing so many different 

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are called the boulevards of Paris. The word 
boulevards means ramparts or bulwarks, and this 
long line of streets is built where the old ramparts 
of Paris used to stand. Of late, however, the 
word has been applied to many of the other broad 
and splendid streets for which Paris is famous. 
This crowded, lively, and interesting thorough- 
fare is over two miles long, and is, in fact, but one 
great street, although it is divided into eleven sec- 
tions, called the Boulevard de la Madeleine, Boule- 
vard des Capucines, Boulevard des Italiens, etc. 
These boulevards do not extend in a straight line, 
but make a great sweep to the north, and come 
down again to within a short distance of the river. 

On each side of this wide line of streets are 
splendid shops and stores, cafes, restaurants, and 
handsome hotels ; and before we have gone very 
far we shall see, standing back in an open space, 
the Grand Opera House of Paris. It is a magnifi- 
cent building both inside and out ; it is the largest 
theater in the world, and covers three acres of 

But although the fine buildings and the dazzling 

things : ladies and gentlemen dressed in the latest 
fashions ; working men in blue blouses ; working 
women, always without any head-covering ; boys 
and men with wooden shoes ; gentlemen, and often 
ladies, sitting at little tables placed on the side- 
walk in front of cafes, drinking coffee, or taking 
some other refreshment ; soldier-policemen march- 
ing up and down, and looking very inoffensive ; 
now and then a priest in long black clothes, and a 
broad felt hat. But yet among this multitude of 
people we seldom meet any one who is dashing 
along as if he were trying to catch a train or a 
boat, or to do something else for which he is 
afraid there is not time enough. Here and there 
we see, standing close to the curbstone, a little 
round wooden house, prettily ornamented, in- 
side of which a woman sits selling newspapers 
which are displayed at the open window. These 
houses are called kiosks, and they take the place 
of the newspaper stands in our country. As far as 
possible, the French like to make their useful things 
ornamental, and these kiosks add very much to the 
appearance of the streets. 



Occasionally we come to the opening of a cov- 
ered arcade, extending a long distance back from 
the street, and crowded on both sides with shops, 
the pavement in the center being occupied only by 
foot-passengers. These arcades are called pas- 
sages, and are among the most interesting feat- 
ures of Paris. The shops here are generally 
small, but they display their goods in a very 
enticing way. Some of the passages contain 
cafes and restaurants, and one of them is almost 
entirely devoted to the sale of toys and presents 
for children. 

In another passage we shall find a very won- 
derful wax-work show, which, although it is 
not so large as the famous exhibition of Madame 
Tussaud in London, is, in many respects, much 
more interesting. There are figures here of all 
kinds, many of celebrated people, but instead 
of being set up stiffly around a room, they are 
arranged in groups in separate compartments, 
and in natural positions, as if they were saying 
or doing something. In the center of the room 
is a studio, in which the artist, who looks as 
natural as life, is painting a picture of a girl 
standing at a little distance from him, while 
behind him another girl is peeping over his 
shoulder to see how he is getting on, and she 
looks so life-like that we can almost expect to hear 
her say what she thinks about it. Near by, some 
ladies and gentlemen are looking over portfolios 
of drawings, other visitors are talking together 
and examining the pictures on the walls, while 
a servant is bringing in wax refreshments which 
look quite good enough to eat and drink. This 
scene will give us an excellent idea of life in the 
studio of a French artist. There are all kinds of 
scenes represented here, and some, especially in 
the basement, are of a gloomy and somber kind. 
One of these represents a body of policemen 
bursting into a room occupied by a band of coun- 
terfeiters engaged in making false money. The 
dismay of the counterfeiters, disturbed in their 
work, and the desperate fight that has already 
begun, are very startling and real, and we almost 
feel that we ought to move out of the way. 

The roadway of the boulevards is filled with 
vehicles of every kind, and among these we 
particularly notice the great omnibuses, much 
larger than any we have, and each drawn by 
three powerful horses, generally white. These 
omnibuses have seats on top as well as inside, 
and a very good way to see the city is to take a 
ride upon one of those upper seats. The omni- 
buses are almost always well filled, but never 
crowded, no one being taken on after every seat is 
occupied, and a fixed number are standing on the 
outside platform. They stop at regular stations, 

not very far apart, and the people who wait here for 
them are provided with numbered tickets, which 
they procure from the agent at the station, so that 
when the omnibus comes, as many as can be ac- 


commodated take their seats in regular order, 
according to the number of their tickets. In this 
way, there is no crowding and pushing to get in, 




i lip 5 


and those who are left behind have the best chance 
at the next omnibus. 

In other parts of the city of Paris, there are street 




railways, called here tramways, which are man- 
aged very much in the same manner as the omni- 
buses. These vehicles are convenient and cheap, 
but not very agreeable, and it is much pleasanter 
to walk and pay nothing, or to take a voiture and 
pay thirty cents for two people for a drive from one 
end of the city to another. 

And thus we go on along the boulevards, pass- 
ing the celebrated gateways, Porte St. Martin and 
Porte St. Denis, until we come to the great open 
space once occupied by the Bastille, in which now 

pleasure-ground, we shall reach the point from 
which we started on our tour. 

We shall take many other walks and drives 
through the streets of Paris, and wherever we go, 
we shall find in each an interest of a different 
sort. On the southern side of the river, is the 
Latin Quarter, where there are some celebrated 
schools and academies, which, for centuries, have 
been the resort of students. Here we shall 
find narrow streets, crowded footways, and shops 
full of all sorts of antiquarian articles, and odds 


rises a tall, sculptured column surmounted by a 
figure of Liberty. Those who have studied and 
remembered modern French history will take a 
great interest in this spot, where so many impor- 
tant events occurred. 

Here end the boulevards. We now turn toward 
the river, and soon reach a wide street called the 
Rue de Rivoli, one side of which is lined with shops 
under arcades, which, in some respects, are more 
attractive than any we have yet seen. At many 
of these, photographs are sold ; and their windows 
are crowded with pictures. All sorts of useful and 
cheap things are to be found here, and a walk 
through this street is like a visit to a museum. On 
the other side of the street is the great Palace of 
the Louvre, which extends for some distance, and 
after that, we come to the Garden of the Tuileries. 
When we have walked through this magnificent 

and ends of every kind, some of which seem to 
have no other value than that they are old, while 
other things are very valuable, and often very 

Here, too, we find book shops, and shops where 
prints and engravings are sold, and all with their 
windows and even their outside walls crowded 
with the best things they have to offer. Along the 
river front are rows of stalls covered with second- 
hand books at very low prices, and those of us who 
are collectors of old coins can find them here by 
the peck or bushel. In this quarter, also, are 
some immense dry-goods and variety stores, which 
are worth going to see. One of them is so large, 
and there is so much to see in it, that, at three 
o'clock every day, a guide who can speak English 
sets out to conduct visitors through the establish- 
ment and to explain its various details. 



In nearly every quarter of Paris, on either side visits even to give one look at every painting and 

of the river, we shall find shops, shops, shops ; statue in the Louvre ; but if we have not much 

people, people, people; life, activity, and bustle time to spare, it is possible to see the best things 

of every sort. Splendid buildings meet our eyes at without walking ourselves to death through the 


every turn, — churches, private residences, places 
of business, and public edifices. In the western 
portion of the city, near the Arc de Triomphe, 
there are fewer shops, these streets being gener- 
ally occupied by fine private residences. But there 
is very little monotony in Paris ; no quarter is 
entirely given up to any one thing. We can ; . . 
not walk far in any direction without soon 
coming upon some object of interest. The 
parks, palaces, public monuments, gardens, 
grand and beautiful churches, fountains of 
various designs, great market-places, squares, 
and buildings of historic interest or archi- 
tectural beauty, are sometimes collected in 
groups, but, as a rule, they are scattered all 
over the city. 

When we have satisfied ourselves with what 
Paris itself is, although we have not seen any- 
thing like the whole of it, we shall set about 
visiting some of its especial attractions. And 
the first place we shall go to will be the great 
palace of the Louvre. This palace, with its 
courts and buildings, covers some twenty 
acres. Here have lived kings, queens, and 
princes ; but now the palace has been made into 
a museum for the people, and its grand halls 
and galleries are filled with paintings, statuary, 
and other works of art, ancient and modern, from 
all parts of the world. It would take many, many 

VOL. XIII. — 37. 

never-ending galleries. Some of the finest paint- 
ings of Raphael, Da Vinci, Murillo, and other 
great masters, are collected in one room, which 
many persons would think well worth coming 
to Paris to see. if they saw nothing else. The 

original statue of the noble Venus de Milo is in 
the sculpture galleries ; and in the Egyptian mu- 
seum, which is so full that the history of Egypt 
may be studied here almost as well as in that land 
itself, we shall see a large stone sphinx which once 




belonged to that king of Egypt from whom the some large baths adjoining this palace, built about 
dren of Israel fled, and the inscriptions on it show the end of the third century, when the Romans had 
that it must have been a pretty old sphinx even when possession of Gaul. They then had a palace on 

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Pharaoh had it. In another part of the museum are 
three life-size figures in stone, which are portraits of 
persons who lived before the great pyramids were 
built, about 4000 years before the Christian era. 

Altogether, the collections of the Louvre are 
among the finest and most extensive in the world, 
and they have a great advantage over the gal- 
leries of the Vatican at Rome : In the Vati- 
can some of the galleries are open on one day 
and some on another, some requiring one kind 
of order of admission, some another, and others 
yet another, and these permits are sometimes 
troublesome to obtain; — but the galleries of 
the Louvre are free to all, rich or poor, who may 
choose to walk into them on any day of the week 
except Monday, which is always reserved for 
cleaning, dusting, and putting things in order. 

In the old palace of the Luxembourg, a very 
much smaller building, there is another valuable 
collection of paintings, but all by French artists ; 
and the Hotel de Cluny, not far away, is a small 
palace of the Middle Ages, and is one of the 
quaintest, queerest, pleasantest, and most home- 
like palaces we are likely to meet with. It is now a 
museum, containing over ten thousand interest- 
ing objects, mostly relating to mediaeval times. 
Here, among the other old-time things, we can 
see the very carriages and sleighs in which the 
great people of the seventeenth century used to 
ride. Those of us who suppose that we have now 
left the Romans for good must not fail to visit 

this spot, and felt bound, as the ancient Romans 
always did, to make themselves comfortable with 
baths and everything of the kind. There are 
other museums and art exhibitions in Paris, but 
those we have seen are the most important ; and 
it is very pleasant to find that they are greatly 


frequented by the poorer classes of the city, who 
are just as orderly and well behaved while walk- 
ing about these noble palaces as if they be- 




longed to the highest families of the land. In the 
great garden of the Tuileries, in the courts and 
gardens attached to the Louvre, the Luxembourg, 
the Palais Royal, and in all the pleasure-grounds 
of the city, we find the poor people enjoying them- 

little babies with their funny caps toddle about on' 
the walks ; the boys and girls have their games in' 
the great open spaces around the fountains, and 
while those who have a cent or two to spare can 
hire little chairs and put them where they like, 
there are always benches for those who have no 
pennies to spend. The convenience of resting 
one's self in the open air is one of the comforts; 
of Paris. In many places along the principal 
streets, there are benches on the sidewalk, where 
weary passers-by may rest shaded by the trees. In 
one part of the city, chiefly inhabited by the poor 
and the working people, a fine park has been laid 
out entirely for their accommodation. In very 
many ways the French government offers oppor- 
tunities to the poor people to enjoy themselves, 
and it is pleasant to see how neat, orderly, and 
quiet these people are. It is very necessary that 
they should be kept in good humor, for when the 
lower classes of Paris become thoroughly dissatis- 
fied, they are apt to rise in fierce rebellion, and 
then down go kings, governments, and palaces. 
On the southern side of the river rises a great 
gilded dome which glistens in the sun, and may 
be seen from all parts of Paris. This dome belongs 
to the church attached to the Hotel des Invalides. 
or hospital for invalid soldiers, and it covers the tomb 
of Napoleon Bonaparte. This tomb, which is very 
magnificent and imposing, is some distance below 
the floor of the church, and welookdown uponitover 
a circular railing. There we see the handsome sar- 



selves; and in some cases they seem to get more cophagus, made of a single block of granite weigh- 
good out of these places than do the rich. The old ing sixty-seven tons, which contains the remains of a 
women sit knitting in the shade of the trees ; the man who once conquered the greater part of Europe. 




Paris is full of churches, some old and some 
new, and many grand or beautiful, but no one of 
them is so interesting as the famous cathedral of 



Notre Dame, which stands on an island in the 
Seine, called La Cite, or the Island of the City, 
because here the original Paris was built. This 
great church is not so attractive in appearance as 
some that we have seen elsewhere, but it is con- 
nected with so many events in the history of 
France, that as we wander about under its vaulted 
arches and through its pillared aisles, and as we 
look upon the strange and sometimes startling 
sculptures in the chapels, the curious wood carv- 
ings about the choir, the immense circular window 
of gorgeously stained glass in the transept, which 
sends its brightness into the solemn duskiness of 
the church, we shall do so with a degree of interest 
increased by what we have read about this old and 
famous building. 

Another church which we shall wish to see is 
Sainte-Chapelle, or Holy Chapel, built in 1245 by 
King Louis IX., who was known as St. Louis. It 
stands on the same island as 
Notre Dame, and near the Palace 
of Justice, a great pile of build- 
ings containing the law courts. 
This church or chapel is small, 
but it is, perhaps, the most beau- 
tiful of the kind in the world. The 
walls of the upper story, in which 
the royal court used to worship, 
are almost entirely of exquisitely 
colored glass. These walls are 
formed of windows nearly fifty 
feet high, and the light shining 
through every side of this gor- 
geous temple of stained glass 
produces a remarkable and beau- 
tiful effect. 

The present Palace of Justice is 
for the most part a modern build- 
ing, but portions of the old edifice 
of the same name which used to 
stand upon this spot still remain. 
In one of these we shall visit the 
old Conciergerie, which is famous 
as a French state prison. Here 
we shall see the little room with a 
brick floor, in which the beauti- 
ful Marie Antoinette, the wife of 
Louis XVI., was imprisoned for 
two months before her execution. 
Here is the very arm-chair in 
which she sat. Thus we bring to 
mind the events of the great 
French revolution, and can easily 
recall the sorrowful things which 
took place in the halls and rooms 
of that gloomy Conciergerie. 
Another celebrated Parisian 
church is the Pantheon, an immense edifice. 
This building was intended as a burial-place for 
illustrious men of France. 

We have all heard of the famous cemetery of 
Pere-Lachaise. It lies within the city, and will be 
interesting to us, not only because of its great size 
and beauty, and because it contains the graves of 
so many persons famous in art, science, literature, 
and war, but because it is so different from any 
graveyard to which we are accustomed. It has 
more than twenty thousand monuments, and many 
of these are like little houses standing side by 
side as if they were dwellings on a street. Each 
vault generally belongs to a family, and the little 
buildings are almost always decorated with a 
profusion of flowers and wreaths, and often with 


pictures and hanging lamps. Here, as in other 
French cemeteries, it is not uncommon to place a 
framed photograph of a deceased person over his 

There are small steamboats which run up and 
down the Seine like omnibuses, and the charge to 
passengers is about two cents apiece. These 
little boats are called by the Parisians mouckes, or 
flies, and as they are often very convenient for city 
trips, we shall take one of them and go to the 
Jardin des Plantes, a very extensive and famous 
zoological and botanical garden. Here we may 
ramble for hours, and see animals from all parts 
of the world 
in cages, and Hi 
houses, and 
in little yards, 
where they 
can enjoy the 
open air. 

At the oth- 
er end of the 
city, outside 
the walls, is 
the Jardin d' 
tion, that con- 
tains a great 
number of 

foreign animals and plants, 
many of which have been nat- 
uralized so as to feel at home 
in the climate of France. In 
one house here, we may see all 
kinds of silk-worms, with the 
plants they feed upon growing 
nearby. In another part of the 
grounds we shall find trained 
zebras and ostriches harnessed 
to little carriages, in which chil- 
dren may take a ride ; and we 
shall see some very gentle ele- 
phants and camels, on which we 
may mount and get an idea of 
how people travel in the East. 
We shall here perhaps call to 
mind the account of this place 
which was published in St. 
NICHOLAS more than ten years 
ago, — in June, 1874. 

The Bois de Boulogne, ad- 
joining this garden, is a very 

large park, where we can see the fashionable peo- 
ple of Paris in their carriages on fine afternoons. 

There are certain goods sold in Paris known 
under the name of "articles de Paris." These 
consist of all sorts of pretty things, generally very 

tasteful but not very expensive, among which are 
jewelry and trinkets of many kinds, and a great 
variety of useful and ornamental little objects 
made in the most attractive fashion. These goods, 
of course, can be bought in other cities, but Paris 
has made a specialty of their manufacture, and 
many shops are entirely given up to their sale. 
A great number of such shops is to be found in 
the Palais Royal. This is a vast palace built for 
Cardinal Richelieu, in 1625, and is in the form of a 
hollow square, surrounding the garden of the 
Palais Royal. Around the four sides of the palace, 
under long colonnades and facing the garden, are 




rows of shops, their windows filled with all sorts 
of sparkling and beautiful things in gold, silver, 
precious stones, bronze, brass, and every other 
material that pretty things can be made of. By 
night or by day the colonnades of the Palais Royal 




are very attractive places, and as all visitors go to 
them, so do we. Even if we do not buy anything, 
we shall be interested in the endless display in the 

Another place we shall wish to visit is the 
famous manufactory of Gobelin tapestry. In this 
factory, which belongs to the Government, are 
produced large and beautiful woven pictures, and 
the great merit of the work is that it is done 
entirely by hand, no machinery being used. The 
operation is very slow, each workman putting one 
thread at a time in its place, and faithfully copying 
a painting in oil or water-colors, which stands near 
him, as a model. If, in a day, he covers a space 
as large as his hand, he considers that he has done 
a very good day's work. These tapestries, which 
are generally very large and expensive, are used 
as wall-hangings in palaces and public build- 
ings. It will be an especial delight, I think, to the 
girls in our company to watch this beautiful work 
slowly growing under the fingers of the skillful 

Outside of Paris, but not far away, there are 
some famous places which we must see. First 
among these are the palace and grounds of Ver- 
sailles, a magnificent palace, built by Louis XIV. 
for a summer residence. This gentleman, who 
liked to be called Le Grand Monarque had so 
high an idea of the sort of country place he wanted, 
that he spent upon this palace and its grounds the 
sum of two hundred millions of dollars.* The 
whole place is now open to the public, and the grand 
and magnificent apartments and halls, some of 
them nearly four hundred feet long, are filled with 
paintings and statuary, so that the palace is now 
a great art gallery. The park is splendidly laid 
out, having in it a wide canal nearly a mile long. 
The fountains here are considered the finest in the 
world, and when they play, which is not very 
often, thousands upon thousands of people come 
out from Paris to see them. In the grounds are 
two small palaces, once inhabited by French 
queens; and one of these, called the little Trianon, 
was the beautiful home of Marie Antoinette, whose 
last home on earth was the brick-paved room of 
the Conciergerie. The private garden attached to 
this little palace, which is more like a park than a 
garden, possesses much rural beauty. 

Here, on the margin of a lake, we may see the 
little thatched cottages which Marie Antoinette 
had built, that she and the ladies of her court 

might play at being milkmaids. These cottages 
stand just as they did when those noble ladies 
dressed themselves up like peasant girls, and 
milked cows, which, I have no doubt, were very 
gentle animals, while the royal milkmaids proba- 
bly tried to make themselves believe that they 
could have the happiness of real milkmaids as 
well as that which belonged to their own lives 
of luxury and state. 

At Fontainebleau is another royal palace, to 
which is attached a magnificent forest of forty-two 
thousand acres. The kings of France did not like 
to feel cramped in their houses or grounds, and in 
this beautiful forest, which measures fifty miles 
around, there are twelve thousand four hundred 
miles of roads and foot-paths. On the borders of 
this forest is the village of Barbizon, where lived 
the artist. Millet, of whom you have read in St. 

Not far from Paris is the old palace of St. Ger- 
main, in which many kings have been born, lived, 
and died, and to which there is a forest of nine 
thousand acres attached. There is also St. Cloud, 
with a ruined palace and a lovely park, with 
statues, fountains, and charming walks ; and, near 
by, the village of Sevres, where the famous porce- 
lain of that name is made. Also within easy dis- 
tance of the city, is the old cathedral of St. Denis, 
where, for over a thousand years, the kings of 
France were buried. Here, in a crypt or burial- 
place under the church, we may look through a 
little barred window into a gloomy vault, and see, 
standing quite near us, the metal coffin which con- 
tains the bones of Marie Antoinette, whose palaces, 
pleasure-grounds, prison-house, and place of execu- 
tion we have already seen. 

The history of France shows us that Paris has 
been as rich in historical events as it is now in 
bright, attractive shops ; but, as a rule, it is much 
more pleasant to see the latter than to remember 
the former. In our walks through Paris, we will 
not think too much of the dreadful riots and com- 
bats that have taken place in her streets, the blood 
that has been shed even in her churches, and the 
executions and murders that have been witnessed 
in her beautiful open squares. Instead of this, we 
will give ourselves up to the enjoyment of the 
Queen of Cities, as she now is, thinking only of 
the unrivaled pleasures she offers to visitors, and 
of the kindness and politeness which we almost 
always meet with from her citizens. 

* A sketch of the boyhood of this spendthrift mo 
the Boy King," in St. Nicholas for October, 1S8 

larch was given in the series of " Historic Boys," under the title of " Louis of Bourbon : 





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on. a. vine , 
Jlj (9 here are roses 
on a tree ; 
Bu.lT m<j fittfe P^°5e 
Grov/s on t«rv fi tt Te toes, 
B A~nd she. is t^-e rose for me. 
j Come cut in. t^e £a.rcfen- , 
IKosy Po5t| ! 
Come visit Moixr cousins, 
I c n i f cf , W i tK me. 

a If wou are m«j dranclcnifcf, 
it stands f° reason- 
l^f»q.t Grandpapa 
T must Joe . 

Cyk'.fair is [he rose 
I on t" e vine, on t™e vine, 

I Ancf fair IS t^e rose 
on t£*e stalfc ; 

JcJut. t" eres onfu one rose 
"ajj \x/no has ten little t oe *« 
J A*ncf it's tKat rose 

fc- -mum 



■ /Cncf it's tKat r. 
"pir* Vtl take for a. 

mk' *mm.u . 


ome put, on uour cajux, 
i Rosa Posw ! 

If ut on. uou.T cctlux 
i and, come vt/itn me; 

|p"or if vou are mw granJckircf, 
1 ,_ ft stands to reason 
I (9 ficik (jrcindpapo. Rosefottsfi 
I -must £>e .'. 





[A Story of the Maine Coast] 

By J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter I. 


BEFORE Bcman's Beach had become the pop- 
ular summer resort which all tourists know to- 
day, there lived, a little back from the rocky coast 
which stretches away from it toward the south- 
west, a farmer named Elder. He had a large 
family, which consisted mostly of girls ; but there 
were two boys, who were twins. 

The boys were called Moke and Poke. These 
were not their baptismal names, of course. JVloke 
Elder had been christened Moses, and Poke Elder 
had received at the same time the respectable ap- 
pellation of Porter — both after their uncle, Mr. 
Moses Porter, who lived in the family. But they 
were so seldom called by those names that most 
people seemed to have forgotten them. Moke was 
Moke, and Poke was Poke, the world over. 

That is to say, their world, which would not 
have required a tape measure quite twenty-five 
thousand miles long to go around it. " Frog-End " 
was the nickname of the part of the town where 
they lived, — probably on account of a great marsh 
which was very noisy in spring, — and they were 
little known beyond its borders. 

But everybody about Frog-End and along the 
coast knew Moke and Poke. That is to say, they 
were known as twins, if not as individual, separate 
boys. They looked so much alike, both being 
thin-faced and tow-headed, and dressed so much 
alike, often wearing each other's clothes, that 
he who, meeting one alone, could always say 
"Moke," or "Poke," as the case might be, — 
and feel sure he was n't calling Moke " Poke " or 
Poke " Moke," — must have known them very well 

Of course, only a born Frog-Ender could do 
that. I am not a Frog-Ender myself, and the only 
way I could ever tell them apart was by looking 
closely at their moles. 

They had two moles between them, exactly 
alike, except that Moke wore his on the right 
cheek, quite close to the right nostril, while Poke 
hung out his sign on the left cheek, at about an 
equal distance from the left nostril ; as if Nature 
had had just a pair of moles to throw in with their 
other personal attractions, and had divided her 
gift in this impartial way. 

Even after people had learned these distinguish- 
ing marks, however, they could not always remem- 
ber, at a moment, which had the right mole and 
which the left; but they would often say "Poke" 
to the right mole and " Moke" to the left mole, in 
a manner that appeared very ridiculous to the 
boys' seven sisters, who could n't see that they 
resembled each other at all. 

The twins were nearly always together, whether 
at work or at play ; when one was sent on an 
errand, as a rule both would go, if it was only to 
get a pound of board-nails or a spool of thread at 
the village store. They were about the age of their 
neighbors and playmates, Oliver Burdeen (com- 
monly called Oily), who, when he was at home, 
lived two farms away from them, and Percival 
Buckhn (familiarly known as Perce), who lived 
still nearer, on the other side. 

These four boys are the three heroes of our story, 
— counting the twins as one, — and they come into 
it on a certain afternoon late in August, just after 
a great storm had swept over the New England 

Uncle Moses Porter — uncle of the twins on the 
mother's side, an odd and very shabby old bach- 
elor — comes into it at the same time, but does n't 
get in very far. It would be hard to make a 
hero of him. At about four o'clock that day he 
stood in Mr. Elder's backyard, barefooted and 
without his hat, watching the clouds and the 
wooden fish on the barn, and making up his mind 
about the weather. That was a subject to which 
he had given the study of a lifetime. He could 
tell you as many "signs" as there are letters in 
the alphabet, and spell out to-morrow's weather 
very exactly with them ; that is to say, what it should 
be, not always what it actually was — Nature some- 
times neglecting in the strangest way her own plain 
rules. A great deal was said about Uncle Moses's 
occasional lucky hits, and very little about his 
frequent misses ; and he enjoyed a world-wide rep- 
utation (the Frog-End world, again) as a weather- 
prophet, until "Old Probabilities" at Washington 
took the wind out of his predictions, and drove 
him, so to speak, out of the business. 

But at the time of which I write he was at the 
pinnacle of his fame, and nobody ventured to doubt 
his prognostications. If the weather did n't turn 
out as he predicted, why, so much the worse for 
the weather ! 



" Wind has whipped 'round the right way this 
time, boys ! " he remarked, after long and careful 
observation. " It 's got square into the west, and 
I predict it 's a-go'n' to stay there, and give us fair 
weather, nex' four-'n'-twenty hours. The 's no 
rain in yon clouds ; it 's all been squeezed out, or 
else I never saw a flyin' scud afore ! " 

He paused as if to relax his mind after the 
severe strain of this prophecy, and smiled as he 
came toward the woodshed, -where the twins were 

"An' I tell ye what, boys! A heap o' that 
kelp the storm 's hove up, are a-go'n' to land, this 
tide an' tomorrer mornin's, an' you 'd better be on 
hand to git our share on 't." 

Chapter II. 


Mr. Bucklin, another Frog-End farmer, had 
a similar right, and he and his son Percival were 
that same afternoon talking about the expected 
harvest of kelp. Mr. Bucklin was saying that there 
was nothing to be gained by starting for the beach 
till the next morning, and that even then he could 
n't go, as being one of the town's selectmen he 
would have some public business to attend to, — and 
Percival, a bright, strong, enterprising boy of six- 
teen, was insisting that their team ought to be on 
the shore by daylight, and that he would be there 


Of all the farm-work the twins ever tried, they 
found going for sea-weed the most delightful. 
There was a relish of adventure in it ; and it took 
them to the beach, which was always a pleasant 
change for boys brought up on Frog-End rocks. 
The kelp was usually hauled up from the shore 
and left to rot in heaps ; after which, it became 
excellent dressing for the land. 

There was no good beach very near Mr. Elder's 
farm, but he had a right on Beman's Beach, two 
or three miles down the coast. 

with it if he could get anybody to go with him, 
when the Elder twins came crossing fields and 
leaping fences, and finally tumbled over the bars 
into the yard where father and son were talking. 

" Uncle Mose says " began Moke. 

"Wind 's just right for the kelp," struck in 

"There '11 be stacks of it," Moke exclaimed. 

" And we 're going ! " Poke continued. 

That was the way they usually did an errand or 
told a story, — one giving one fragment of a sen- 

5 86 



tence, and his brother the next, if, indeed, they 
did n't both speak together. 

They ended with a proposition. Their father 
had gone to Portland with the team ; and if Mr. 
Bucklin would let Perce take his tip-cart and yoke 
of steers, they would go with him, and all the sea- 
weed gathered by the three should be shared 
equally by the two farmers. 

" And what we want is " said Moke. 

" To start after an early supper this evening," 
said Poke. 

" Camp to-night at the beach," Moke added. 

" And be on hand to begin work " Poke 

added, contributing his link to the conversational 

" As soon as the tide turns in the morning," 
rattled both together. 

Mr. Bucklin smiled indulgently. 

" I think your uncle is right," he said. "And 
1 'm willing Perce should go. Though I don't 
know about your starting to-night to camp out." 

" Oh, yes ! " exclaimed Percival, as eager for the 
adventure as if he had been a third twin and 
shared the enthusiasm of his two other selves. 
" That will be all the fun ! " 

" We '11 take some green corn " said Moke. 

" And new potatoes " said Poke. 

" And a sickle to cut grass " Moke ran on. 

" And make a fire of driftwood " Poke out- 
stripped him. 

" For the steers," said Moke, finishing his own 
sentence, and not Poke's. 

" To roast 'em," concluded Poke, referring to 
the potatoes and green corn, and not to the steers. 

" It '11 be just grand ! " Percival exclaimed. 
" May we, father? The tide will turn about day- 
light ; we '11 have our breakfast on the beach, and 
be ready to go to work ; and we '11 haul two big 
heaps on the shore, one for us and one for 
them, and leave 'em till they 're ready to draw 
away and spread on the land. May we, father ? " 

" You 're not so sure the kelp '11 land," said the 
cautious farmer. " It 's notional about itsometimes." 

" But if the wind keeps off shore it will ! " said 
Moke and Poke, two voices for a single thought. 

" The wind may chip around again, and the 
kelp all disappear as clean as if the beach had 
been swept. But I don't care," added the farmer 
indulgently. " If you boys want to take the 
chance, I '11 let Perce have the steers. You might 
gather some driftwood, anyhow. The storm must 
have driven a good lot of that high up, out of the 
reach of the common tides." 

His easy consent made the boys as happy as if 
they had been going to a circus ; and they im- 
mediately began to make preparations for the trip. 

Moke and Poke ran home for their suppers, and 

came running back in an incredibly short time, 
bringing a basket of provisions, with ears of un- 
husked corn and bottles of spruce-beer sticking 
out, a blanket for their bed on the beach, and 
each a three-tined pitchfork for handling the kelp. 
These were put into the cart, along with articles 
furnished by Percival, and a quantity of hay which 
Mr. Bucklin said they would find comfortable to 
sleep on that night, even if it did n't come handy 
to feed the oxen. 

The yoked steers were then made fast to the 
cart, and they set off. 

Chapter III. 


Never king in his coach enjoyed a more exhil- 
arating ride than our three youngsters in the old 
tip-cart, drawn by the slow cattle along the rough 
country road. The source of happiness is in our 
own hearts ; and it is wonderful how little it takes 
to make it run over, in a healthy boy. 

A board placed across the cart-box served as 
a seat ; and when one of them tired of riding on 
that, he would tumble in the hay. Perce wielded 
the ox-gad at first ; but soon the twins wished 
to drive. Both reached for the whip at once. 

" Wait a minute ! you can't both have it ! " cried 
Perce. " The oldest first ! " 

" I 'm the oldest," declared Moke. 

" So I 've heard you say," Perce replied. " But 
I don't see how anybody ever remembered." 

" They looked out for that when they named 
us," said Moke. 

" It was uncle Moses's idea," said Poke. " He 
told 'em, ' Call the oldest by my first name and 
the youngest by my last name ' " 

" ' And that will fix it in folks's minds,' " Moke 
completed the quotation. 

" That was before they discovered the moles," 
said both together. 

" I never thought of that," said Perce. " But 
whenever anybody asks me which is the oldest, I 
think of your initials, and run over in my mind — 
L, M, N, O, P; — M comes before P ; then I 
say, ' Moke 's the oldest. ' But how could they tell 
you apart before they saw the moles ? " 

" They tied a red string around Moke's ankle," 
said Poke. 

" But once the string came off, and Ma thinks it 
might have been changed," said Moke. 

" And to this day she can't say positively but 
I am Moke, and Moke is me," said Poke. 

Perce laughed. " Why did n't you have some- 
thing besides a couple of teenty-taunty moles to 
distinguish you? " he asked. " Why did n't one 



of you be light-complexioned and the other dark ? 
There 'd have been some sense in that." 

"We could n't! " said Poke. 

"You did n't try," replied Perce. 

"We could n't if we had tried," said Moke. 
"Twins are always " 

"The same complexion," struck in Poke. "Just 
like one person." 

" No, they 're not; there 's no rule about that," 
said Perce. " And when you talk of one person — 
have you heard of the man over in Kennebunk ? " 

" What about him? " asked the twins. 

" Why, have n't you heard? One half his face," 
said Perce, "as if you should draw a line straight 
down his forehead and nose to the bottom of his 
chin," he drew his finger down his own face, by way 
of illustration; "one half — it 's the right half, I 
believe — is as black as a negro's. Yes; I'm sure 
it's the right half." 

" Pshaw ! " said Moke. 

" Oh, Jiminy ! " said Poke. 

" I don't believe it ! " said both together. 

"It's true, I tell you!" Perce insisted. "My 
father has seen him; and my father would n't lie." 

" He must have had some disease," said Moke. 

" He 's what they call a leopard," said Poke. 

"You mean a leper ?" laughed Perce. "No; 
he is n't a leper, nor an albino. Why, boys ! did n't 
you ever hear of such a case ? It 's quite common, 
and it 's easily explained." 

" I give it up ! How do you explain it?" said 
the twins. 

"Simply enough!" exclaimed Perce. "The 
other side of his face is black too." And he keeled 
over backward on the hay. 

It was an old joke which he had indeed heard 
his father tell ; but it was new to the twins, who 
were completely taken in by it. 

" Throw him out of the cart ! " shrieked Poke, 
half smothered with laughter, at the same time 
seizing hold of Perce as if to execute his own order. 

" I'll jolt him out ! " cried Moke, who was driv- 
ing; and he began to urge the oxen into a heavy, 
clumsy trot, which shook up the cart and its con- 
tents in a way that was more lively than pleasant. 

"Oh, don't do that !" cried Perce, with the 
jolts in his voice. " You '11 break the e-g-g-s in 
my ba-ask-et ! " 

" I 've had one supper, but I shall want another 
by the time we get to the beach," said Poke. 

" So shall I ! " cried Perce. " We '11 make a 
big fire on the shore, and have a jolly time. And, 
I say, boys, let 's call for Oily Burdeen, and make 
him come down on the beach with us to-night." 

" That will be fun, if he is n't too proud to go 
with country people now," replied Moke. 

" Since he 's been waiting on city folks, he 's 

as stuck up as if he 'd tumbled into a cask of 
molasses," said Poke. 

" Oily is all right," said Perce. " He does n't 
put on any airs with me. We '11 have him with 
us, anyhow ! " 

Chapter IV. 


There was but one boarding-house at Beman's 
Beach in those days. Originally a farm-house, it 
stood in not the very best situation, a little distance 
back from the sea, in a hollow of the hills. It was 
kept by a farmer's widow, Mrs. Murcher, who, as 
her business expanded, had built on additions 
until her house looked as if it had the mumps in 
one enormously swollen cheek. 

While his Frog-End mates were driving thither- 
ward in the tip-cart, and talking about him, Master 
Oily Burdeen, the third hero in our story (count- 
ing the twins as one), was standing before a bureau 
in Mrs. Murcher's best corner room, and smiling 
graciously at his image in the oval-shaped looking- 

He held a hair-brush in his right hand and a 
comb in his left, and after giving his sleek locks 
an artistic touch or two, he would tip the mirror a 
trifle and recede a step, to get a still more pleasing 
view of his personal perfections. 

It was not his own room, there in the new part 
— the swollen cheek, as it were — of the summer 
boarding-house. Nor can I have the satisfaction of 
declaring that it was his own brush and comb with 
which he was making so free, nor his own cologne 
that had imparted to his naturally rough, rusty 
hair its extraordinary fragrance and smoothness. 
But the broadly smiling mouth, snub nose, and 
freckles were possessions nobody would have 
thought of disputing with Master Oily ; and the 
tolerably well-fitting, genteel, grayish-brown suit 
he had on had belonged to him about eight hours. 

Oily Burdeen was not, in fact, one of Mrs. 
Murcher's boarders. He was only a boy-of-all- 
work employed by her for the season. The room 
belonged to Mr. Hatville, who had gone yacht- 
ing that afternoon ; and Oily had taken temporary 
possession to admire himself in his new clothes 
before the convenient glass. 

For new they were to him, although they had 
been rather well worn that summer by the friendly 
young boarder, who, on departing in the morning, 
had made Oily a present of them in return for the 
errands Oily had done for him. 

This was the first opportunity to try them on 
that the proud recipient had found. He had never 
in his life worn anything so stylish, and we can 
smile tolerantly at the innocent vanity with which 

5 88 



he surveyed himself in Mr. Hatville's mirror. His 
liberal use of Mr. Hatville's hair-brush and cologne- 
bottle was not, perhaps, so excusable. And when 
with fearful joy he took from its embroidered case 
by the mirror the tempting gold watch which Mr. 
Hatville had, either by accident or design, left 
hanging there, on changing his clothes that after- 
noon to go yachting, — when, I say, Master Burdeen 


lifted out that valuable time-piece by its dang- 
ling chain, and placed it in the watch-pocket of his 
new waistcoat, it must be owned that he was 
carrying his ideas of hospitality too far. 

"It only needed a watch to set it off," he said; 
" and here it is ! " 

In his button-hole he hooked the gold guard, 
letting the heavy seal hang, and the chain fall in 
a graceful curve on his vest. Then he drew out 
the watch and opened it with a pressure of the 
spring (it was a hunter's case), and looked at the 
time ; shutting it again with a delightful snap, and 
replacing it in his pocket, as he strutted the while 
with amiable satisfaction before the tilted glass. 

" I '11 have just such a watch of my own some day, " 
he said to himself, proudly, "and just such a gold 
chain, with a seal as big as that ! See if I don't ! " 

With a sigh he started to put it back in the 
embroidered case where he had found it. But that 
required too great an effort of self-denial. 

" I 'd like to wear it a few minutes ; where '11 be 
the harm?" he thought. "Of course, I wont let 
any accident happen to it." 

He looked at the time again ; it was half-past 
six. The two or three men boarders who remained 
with Mrs. Murcher (for it was now late in the 
season) had gone yachting, and the ladies were 
at tea. It was an hour of leisure with Oily, and 
having put on his new rig, he thought it would be 
pleasant to take a stroll on the beach, a sort of 
rehearsal of his role of " walking gentleman," before 
going that evening to show himself to the admir- 
ing natives at Frog-End. He could n't resist the 
temptation to carry the watch, on this preliminary 
excursion ; buttoning the guard and seal under 
the top buttons of his coat, so that they should n't 
be observed as he left the house. 

" I only wish she could see me ! " he whispered 
blushingly to himself, as he went down the 

"She" was Miss Amy Canfield, the youngest 
of the lady boarders, and in his eyes the prettiest. 
She had been kind to Oily, as, indeed, the most 
of the boarders had been ; and it put him into 
a warm glow, from his cheeks to his shins, as he 
thought of meeting her surprised gaze. 

But Amy was at tea with the rest, and as obliv- 
ious of him at that moment as if he had never 
existed. So he passed out of the house unnoticed, 
and went to enjoy his little strut alone ; unbut- 
toning his coat again, and glancing down at the 
superb chain and seal, as he took the sandy path 
to the beach. 

" If I see the Susette," he said, — for that was 
the name of the yacht, — " I '11 hurry back, and 
have the watch in its place again long before Mr. 
Hatville lands." 

This he fully intended to do. But neither from 
the intervening sand-hills, nor from the shore itself, 
which he reached after a short walk from the 
boarding-house, was the yacht anywhere to be 

The sea had gone down rapidly since the recent 
gale. It rolled on the beach, in breakers made 
dark and turbid by the sea-weed which, uptorn by 
the storm and mixed with sand, still tumbled and 
washed to and fro in the waves. 

"Wind 's got around square in the west," ob- 
served Oily. " The yacht '11 have a mean time 
beating up ! " 

The sky was partly covered by heavy masses of 
broken clouds, in an opening of which the sun was 
just setting over dark growths of pine and spruce 
that rose behind the dunes, a little back from the 
beach. As it went down, the shadows of the woods 
stretched out, like wings, over the dunes and the 
smooth, glistening slope of beach sand, just washed 



by the receding tide. Then the sunset light on 
the white crests of the breakers was quenched, 
and the whole sea was in gloom. For a moment 
only, for now the flying clouds caught a flush 
which spread swiftly over the sky, until the entire 
heavens, almost down to the sea rim, appeared 
one burning flame. The sea itself had a strange, 
wild beauty, the dark and sullen waters but half 
consenting to reflect the glow of the clouds on 
their heaving waves. 

Chapter V. 


" Just the time to take a little row," thought 
Oily Burdeen, as he strolled about, looking some- 
times admiringly at his new clothes and the gay 
watch-guard, and sometimes casting wistful glances 
at the sea. 

He knew the thrilling pleasure of crossing and 
recrossing the breakers in a good boat, and rocking 
on the swells outside. 

" I believe I '11 try it once," he said. " Maybe 
I can see the yacht around the point." 

The point was a rocky arm of the shore which 
shut off the ocean view on the north-east, the 
direction from which the Susette was expected. 
But the little harbor it would have to enter was a 
deep cove in the broken coast at the other end of 
the beach, a quarter of a mile away. 

" It can't possibly come in without my seeing it 
in season," thought Oily, with a glance at the 
watch, which he took from his pocket and opened 
and shut again with a sort of guilty joy, for the 
twentieth time. 

There were a couple of dories drawn up above 
high-water mark ; and he knew where a pair of old 
battered oars were hidden under a row of bathing- 
houses close by. He drew them out and threw 
them on the sand. Then he looked at the sea- 
weed in his way, — little windrows of it littering 
the beach, and dark masses rolling in the surf. 
The tide had been going out about three hours. 

" 1 can get through that easily enough," he said. 

He dragged the lightest of the dories down to 
the water's edge, and put in the oars. He knew 
just how it should be launched, and understood 
the necessity of sending it straight across the 
breakers, and of never, by any chance, letting 
them strike it sidewise. 

Placing himself at the upper end, he waited for 
a good wave, and pushed the boat into it, — running 
with it until his feet were almost in the water, then 
holding it firmly until another wave lifted it. Just 
as that was subsiding, he gave the dory another 
push, leaped in at the same time, caught up the 

oars, and had them in the rowlocks and in the 
water just as the third wave came. 

So far, so good. He had done the same thing 
many times before, and had never met with an 
accident. Two or three sturdy strokes, and he 
would have been safe outside the rollers. But at 
a critical moment he paused to look at a few spat- 
ters of water on his new clothes ; and on the 
instant one of his oars caught in a whirling tangle 
of kelp. 

The boat was going out swiftly in one direction ; 
the billow that bore the kelp was rushing in 
with tremendous force in the other. No one 
knows the power of a wave, who has not felt it at 
some such crisis. What happened was over so 
quickly that Oily himself could not have explained 
it. A brief struggle, a terrible wrench, a buffet in 
the breast and face from the end of an oar, — and 
he was lying on his back in the dory with his heels 
above the thwarts. 

For a few seconds he lay there, half stunned by 
the blow and the fall. His breath seemed to have 
been quite knocked out of his body. It did not take 
him long to recover it, however, and to reverse the 
positions of his head and his heels. When he did 
so, he found the boat swinging around broadside 
to the breakers, with one threatening at that very 
moment to overwhelm it. 

Instinctively he seized an oar and pulled with 
all his might to head the dory to the wave. He 
succeeded, and sent it careening safely over it and 
the next great swell, and so out to sea. 

But it was at the expense of the oar. It was an 
old one, much worn by the friction of the rowlocks, 
and his last stroke broke it short off at the weak 
point. The paddle-end fell overboard, and only 
the handle remained in his hand. 

He then turned to look for the other oar, and 
found that he had lost it at the time of his tumble. 
He could see it going over on a breaker, several 
rods behind him. For now the wind took the 
dory, and was wafting it away almost as rapidly as 
if it carried a sail. 

He tried paddling with the stub that remained 
in his hand, but made so little headway with it 
that he began to be seriously alarmed. He had 
been sufficiently startled by his accident and the 
danger of an overturn in the rollers; but he now 
saw himself in face of an unforeseen peril. 

He at first thought he would jump overboard 
and swim to the beach ; but even then he remem- 
bered his clothes, which a wetting might ruin — to 
say nothing of Mr. Hatville's watch. 

There was, besides, another danger. The kelp ! 
He was a good swimmer ; but could he ever make 
his way through breakers in which such fields 
of sea- weed tossed and rolled? 




The night was shutting down with gathering 
clouds. The wind struck the skiff with a force he 
had not felt under the lee of the woods. Not a 
human being was in sight, nor a boat — only two 
or three distant sails on the horizon. 

"Oh, the yacht! Where is the yacht?" he 
cried aloud, gazing eagerly around the point of 
rocks, the view beyond which was rapidly opening 
as he drifted out to sea. 

A little while before, he would have been sorry 
enough to have had the Susette come in before 
he had time to land and run back to the boarding- 
house with the borrowed watch ; but now he wished 
for nothing so devoutly as that it might come along 
and pick him up — so much worse things might 

happen than the discovery of the time-piece in his 

But no yacht hove in sight. The glory had 
faded out of the sky. The sea darkened ; the 
wind increased. He shouted for help, though with 
little hope of making himself heard. 

There were only women at the boarding-house, 
and even if his voice reached them, it must have 
sounded so faint and far away as to attract no 
especial attention. But the upper windows were 
visible over the sand-hills. Perhaps somebody, per- 
haps Amy Canfield herself, was gazing from them. 

In that hope he swung his hat with frantic ges- 
tures of distress, still screaming for help, as he 
drifted away on the darkening waters. 

(To be continued.) 


\An Historical Biography. \ 

By Horace E. Scudder. 

Chapter XV. 


It was on the 15th day of June, 1775, that 
George Washington was chosen Commander-in- 
Chief of the American army. The next day he 
made his answer to Congress, in which he declared 
that he accepted the office, but that he would take 
no pay ; he would keep an exact account of his 
expenses, but he would give his services to his 
country. There was no time to be lost. He could 
not go home to bid his wife good-by, and he did 
not know when he should see her again, so he 
wrote her as follows : 

" Philadelphia, 18th June, 1775. 
" My Dearest : 

" I am now set down to write to you on a subject which 
fills me with inexpressible concern, and this concern is greatly 
aggravated and increased when I reflect upon the uneasiness I 
know it will give you. It has been determined in Congress that the 
whole army raised for the defence of the American cause shall be 
put under my care, and that it is necessary for me to proceed im- 
mediately to Boston to take upon me the command of it. 

" You may believe me, my dear Patsy, when I assure you in the most 
solemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment, I have used 
every endeavor in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwilling- 
ness to part with you and the family, but from a consciousness of it 
being a trust too great for my capacity, and that I should enjoy 
more real happiness in one month with you at home than I have the 
most distant prospect of finding abroad, if my stay were to be 
seven times seven years. But as it has been a kind of destiny that 
has thrown me upon this service, I shall hope that my undertaking 
it is designed to answer some good purpose. You might, and I 
suppose did perceive, from the tenor of my letters, that I was appre- 
hensive I could not avoid this appointment, as I did not pretend to 
intimate when I should return. That was the case. It was utterly 

out of my power to refuse this appointment, without exposing my 
character to such censures as would have reflected dishonor upen 
myself and given pain to my friends." 

That is to say, he could not refuse the appoint- 
ment without laying himself open to the charge 
of being a coward and afraid to run the risk, or a 
selfish man who preferred his own ease and com- 
fort. He was neither. He was a courageous man, 
as he had always shown himself to be, and he was 
unselfish, for he was giving up home and property, 
and undertaking a life of the greatest difficulty in 
the service of — what? His country ? Yes. But we 
must remember that Virginia was his country more 
than all the colonies were, and at present it was 
only Massachusetts that stood in peril. Of course 
every one is impelled to do great things by more 
than one motive. Washington was a soldier, and 
his blood tingled as he thought of being Com- 
mander-in-Chief, and doing the most that a soldier 
could ; but he was, above all, a man who had a 
keen sense of right and wrong. He saw that Eng- 
land was wrong and was doing injustice to Amer- 
ica. The injustice did not at once touch him as a 
planter, as a man who was making money ; it 
touched him as a free man who was obedient to 
the laws ; and he was ready to give up everything 
to help right the wrongs. 

Washington left Philadelphia on his way to Bos- 
ton, June 21, escorted by a troop of horsemen, 
and accompanied by Schuyler and Lee, who had 
just been made major-generals by Congress. They 



had gone about twenty miles when they saw a man 
on horseback coming rapidly down the road. It 
was a messenger riding post-haste to Philadelphia, 
and carrying to Congress news of the battle of 
Bunker Hill. Everybody was stirred by the news 
and wanted to know the particulars. 

" Why were the Provincials compelled to 
retreat ? " he was asked. 

" It was for want of ammunition," he replied. 

" Did they stand the fire of the regular troops ? " 
asked Washington anxiously. 

" That they did, and held their own fire in 
reserve until the enemy was within eight rods." 

" Then the liberties of the country are safe ! " 
exclaimed Washington. He remembered well the 
scenes under Braddock, and he knew what a sight 
it must have been to those New England farmers 
when a compact body of uniformed soldiers came 
marching up from the boats at Charlestown. If 

Hill made him extremely anxious to reach the 

In New England, the nearer he came to the seat 
of war, the more excited and earnest he found the 
people. At ever)- town he was met by the citizens 
and escorted through that place to the next. This 
was done at New Haven. The collegians all turned 
out, and they had a small band of music, at the 
head of which, curiously enough, was a freshman 
who afterward made some stir in the world. It was 
Noah Webster, the man of spelling-book and dic- 
tionary fame. At Springfield, the party was met 
by a committee of the Provincial Congress of Mas- 
sachusetts, and at last, on the 2d of July, he came 
to Watertown, where he was welcomed by the 
Provincial Congress itself, which was in session 

It was about two o'clock in the afternoon of the 
same day that Washington rode into Cambridge, 



they could stand fearlessly, there was stuff in them 
for soldiers. 

All along the route the people in the towns 
turned out to see Washington's cavalcade, and at 
Newark a committee of the New York Provincial 
Congress met to escort him to the city. There he 
left General Schuyler in command, and hurried 
forward to Cambridge, for the news of Bunker 

escorted by a company of citizens. As he drew 
near Cambridge Common, cannon were fired to 
welcome him, and the people in Boston must have 
wondered what had happened. The Provincial 
Congress had set apart for his use the house of the 
President of Harvard College, reserving only one 
room for the President ; but this house, which is 
still standing, was probably too small and incon- 

59 2 



venient; for shortly afterward Washington was 
established in the great square house, on the way 
to Watertown, which had been deserted by a rich 
Tory, and there he staid as long as he was in Cam- 
bridge. By good fortune, years afterward, the 
poet Longfellow bought the house, and so the two 
names of Washington and Longfellow have made 
it famous. 

On the morning of the next day, which was 
Monday, July 3, 1775, Washington, with Lee and 
other officers, rode into camp. Cambridge Com- 
mon was not the little place it now is, hemmed in 
by streets. It stretched out toward the country, 
and a country road ran by its side, leading to 
Watertown. An Episcopal church stood opposite 
the common, and a little farther on, just as the road 
turned, nearly at a right angle, stood an old house. 
In front of this house, at the corner of the road, 
was a stout elm-tree. It was a warm summer 
morning, and the officers were glad of the shade 
of the tree. 

On the left, and stretching behind, were the 
tents of the American camp. The soldiers them- 
selves were drawn up in the road and on the dry, 
treeless common. Crowded about were men, 
women, and children, for the news had spread that 
the general had come, and the crowd and the sol- 
diers were well intermingled. What did they 
see ? They saw a group of men on horseback, in 
military dress ; but the foremost man, on whom 
all eyes were bent, was a tall, splendid figure, erect 
upon his horse ; those nearest could see that he 
had a rosy face, thick brown hair that was brushed 
back from his face, and clear blue eyes set rather 
far apart. By his side was a man who appeared 
even taller, he was so thin and lank ; he had a 
huge nose, eyes that were looking in every direc- 
tion, a mouth that seemed almost ready to laugh 
at the people before him. He sat easily and care- 
lessly on his horse. This was General Lee. 

Now, the strong Virginian, easily marked by his 
bearing and his striking dress, — for he wore a blue 
ccat with buff facings, buff small-clothes, an epau- 
let on each shoulder, and a cockade in his hat, — 
turned to General Ward, who had heretofore been 
in command of the army, and laying his hand on 
the hilt of his sword, drew it from the scabbard, and 
raised it in the sight of the people. The cannon 
roared, no doubt, and the people shouted. It was 
a great occasion for them, and everybody was on 
tiptoe of curiosity to see the Virginians. All this is 
what we may suppose, for there is no account of 
the exact ceremony. We only know that, at that 
time, Washington took command of the army. 

But what did Washington see, and what did he 
think, now, and later, when he made a tour of 
inspection through the camp and to the outposts? 

He saw a motley assembly, in all sorts of uniforms 
and without any uniform at all, with all sorts of 
weapons and with precious little powder. So little 
was there, that Washington was very anxious lest 
the British should find out how little he had ; and 
so while he was urging Congress to provide sup- 
plies, he had barrels of sand, with powder covering 
the top, placed in the magazine, so that any spy 
hanging about might be misled. Some of the 
soldiers were in tents, some were quartered in 
one or two college buildings then standing, and 
some built huts for themselves. The most orderly 
camp was that of the Rhode Island troops, under 
General Nathaniel Greene. 

The men were in companies of various sizes, 
under captains and other officers who had very 
little authority over the privates, for these usually 
elected their own commanders. A visitor to the 
camp relates a dialogue which he heard between 
a captain and one of the privates under him. 

"Bill," said the captain, " go and bring a pail 
of water for the men." 

" I shan't," said Bill. " It 's your turn now, 
Captain ; I got it last time." 

But the men, though under very little discipline, 
were good stuff out of which to make soldiers. 
Most of them were in dead earnest, and they 
brought, besides courage, great skill in the use of 
the ordinary musket. A story is told of a company 
of riflemen raised in one of the frontier counties of 
Pennsylvania. So many volunteers applied as to 
embarrass the leader who was enlisting the com- 
pany, and he drew on a board with chalk the 
figure of a nose of the common size, placed the 
board at the distance of a hundred and fifty yards, 
and then declared he would take only those who 
could hit the mark. Over sixty succeeded. "Gen- 
eral Gage, take care of your nose," says the news- 
paper that tells the story. General Gage, as you 
know, was the commander of the British forces in 

Washington wrote to Congress, " I have a 
sincere pleasure in observing that there are mate- 
rials for a good army, a great number of able- 
bodied men, active, zealous in the cause, and of 
unquestionable courage." 

His first business was to make an army out of 
this material, and he shrewdly suggested that, inas- 
much as there was great need of clothing, it would 
be well to furnish ten thousand hunting-shirts at 
once. Not only would these be the cheapest gar- 
ments, but they would furnish a convenient and 
characteristic uniform, which would destroy the 
distinctions between the troops from different colo- 
nies or towns. If the men looked alike, they would 
act together better. 

There is a story that Washington had a platform 

1 886] 



,-r.> -'■■-■ '■'■; 



built in the branches of the elm under which 
he had taken command of the army, and that 
there he sat with his glass, spying the move- 
ments across the water in Boston. Whether 
this be so or not, he was constantly scouring 
the country himself, and sending his scouts 
within the enemy's lines. The most critical 
time came at the end of the year 1775, when 
the term of the old soldiers' enlistment expired, 
and the ranks were filling up with raw recruits. 

"It is not in the pages of history, perhaps," 
writes Washington to the President of Congress, 
on the 4th of January, " to furnish a case like ours. 
To maintain a post within musket-shot of the 

enemy for six months together without , and 

at the same time to disband one army and recruit 
another, within that distance of twenty-odd Brit- 
ish regiments, is more, probably, than ever was 
Vol. XIII. — 38. 

attempted. But if we succeed as well in the last 
as we have heretofore in the first, I shall think it 
the most fortunate event of my whole life." 

The blank purposely left in this letter, in case it 
should fall into the hands of the enemy, was easily 
filled by Congress with the word "powder." At 
one time there was not half a pound to a man. 
General Sullivan writes that when General Wash- 
ington heard of this, he was so much struck by the 




danger that he did not utter a word for half an 

When Washington left Philadelphia for Cam- 
bridge, he wrote to his wife as if he expected to 
return after a short campaign. Perhaps he said 
this to comfort her. Perhaps he really hoped that 
by a short, sharp struggle the colonies would show 
Great Britain that they were in earnest, and would 
secure the rights which had been taken from them. 
At any rate, from the day he took command of the 
army in Cambridge, Washington had one purpose 
in view, to attack Boston just as soon as possible. 
The summer was not over before he called his offi- 
cers together and proposed to make the attack. 
They hesitated, and finally said they were not 
ready for so bold a move. He called a council 
again, the middle of October, but still he could not 
bring them to the point. He kept on urging it, 
however, as the one thing to do, and Congress at 
last, just at the end of the year, passed a resolu- 
tion giving Washington authority to make an 
assault upon the British forces " in any manner 
he might think expedient, notwithstanding the 
town and property in it might be destroyed." 

As soon as he received this authority, Washing- 
ton again called his officers together, and urged 
with all his might the necessity of immediate ac- 
tion. He thought they should make a bold attempt 
at once to conquer the English army in Boston. 
In the spring more troops would come over from 
England. "Strike now!" he said, "and perhaps 
it will not be necessary to strike again." But it was 
not till the middle of February that he was able 
to persuade his generals to agree to a move. As 
soon as he had won them over, he made his prepa- 
rations as rapidly as possible, and on the 3d of 
March took possession of Dorchester Heights. 
That movement showed the British what was com- 
ing. If they were to stay in Boston, they would at 
once be attacked. They took to their ships and 
sailed out of Boston harbor. 

Washington had driven them out, though he 
had fought no battle. It is impossible to say what 
would have happened if he could have had his way 
before, and attacked Boston. There were many 
friends of America in Parliament, and if the news 
had come that the New England men had actually 
destroyed Boston, the town where their property 
was, in their determination to drive out the British 
soldiers, I think these friends would have said : 
"See how much in earnest these Massachusetts 
men are ! They have a right to be heard, when they 
are willing to sacrifice their own town to secure ■ 
their rights." Boston was not destroyed, and the 
war went on ; but one effect of this siege of Boston 
was to inspire confidence in Washington. He 
showed that he was a born leader. He did not 

hold back, but went right to the front, and beck- 
oned to the other generals to come and stand 
where he stood. He had courage ; he was ready 
to attack the enemy. It was a righteous cause in 
which he was embarked, and he wished to make 
short work of the business. There were to be 
seven weary years of war, and Washington was 
to show in other ways that he was the leader ; but 
it was a great thing that in the beginning of the 
struggle he should have been head and shoulders 
above the men around him, and that when he 
drew his sword from the scabbard he was no 
boaster, but was ready at once to use it. 

Chapter XVI. 


On the 13th of April, 1776, Washington was in 
New York, which now promised to be the center of 
operations. Here he remained four or five months, 
making one visit meanwhile to Philadelphia, at 
the request of Congress, which wished to confer 
with him. He was busy increasing and strengthen- 
ing the army and erecting fortifications. 

That spring and summer saw a rapid change in 
men's minds regarding the war with England. 
Washington no longer thought it possible to obtain 
what the colonies demanded and still remain sub- 
ject to England. He was ready for independence, 
and when Congress issued its declaration, Wash- 
ington had it read before the army with great sat- 

Not long after the declaration of independence, 
an English fleet arrived in New York Bay, bring- 
ing a large body of troops, under the command of 
Lord Howe, who, with his brother Admiral Howe, 
had been appointed commissioners to treat with 
the Americans. In reality, they only brought a 
promise of pardon to the rebels. It was very clear 
to Washington that the British Government had 
not the slightest intention of listening to the griev- 
ances of the colonies with a desire to redress them; 
but that they meant by these proposals to distract 
the colonies if possible and build up a party there 
that would oppose the action of Congress. There 
was a little incident attending the arrival of the 
commissioners that showed the feeling which 

One afternoon, word came that a boat was com- 
ing to head-quarters, bringing a messenger from 
Lord Howe with a communication. Washington 
had noticed that the British, whenever speaking of 
him or other American officers, had refused to 
regard them as officers of the army ; they were 
simply private gentlemen who had taken up arms 
against the King. Now Washington knew that 



while it was in itself a small matter whether he was 
addressed by people about him as General Wash- 
ington or Mr. Washington, it was not at all a small 
matter how Lord Howe addressed him. That 
officer had no business with George Washington, 
but he might have very important business with 
General Washington. Accordingly, he called to- 
gether such of the American officers as were at 
head-quarters to consult them in regard to the 
subject, and they agreed entirely with him. Col- 
onel Reed was directed to receive the messenger 
and manage the matter. 

Accordingly, he entered a boat and was rowed 
out toward Staten Island, whence Lord Howe's 
messenger was coming. The two boats met half- 
way, and Lieutenant Brown — for that was the name 
of the messenger — was very polite, and informed 
Colonel Reed that he bore a letter from General 
Howe to Mr. Washington. Colonel Reed looked 
surprised. He himself was an officer in the con- 
tinental army, and he knew no such person. There- 
upon Lieutenant Brown showed him the letter, 
which was addressed, George Washington, Esq. 
Colonel Reed was polite, but it was quite impos- 
sible for him to bear a letter to the commander 
of the American army addressed in that way. The 
lieutenant was embarrassed ; as a gentleman and 
an officer he saw he was in the wrong. He tried 
to make matters better by saying that it was an 
important letter, but was intended rather for a per- 
son who was of great importance in American 
councils than for one who was commanding an army. 

Colonel Reed continued to refuse the letter, and 
the boats parted. Presently, however, Lieutenant 
Brown came rowing back and asked by what title 
Washington chose to be addressed. It was quite 
an unnecessary question, Reed thought. There 
was not the slightest doubt as to what General 
Washington's rank was. The lieutenant knew it 
and was really very sorry, but he wished Colonel 
Reed would take the letter. Colonel Reed replied 
that it was the easiest matter in the world ; it only 
needed that the letter should be correctly addressed. 
And so they parted. 

Five days later, an aide-de-camp of General 
Howe appeared with a flag and asked that an 
interview might be granted to Colonel Patterson, 
the British Adjutant-General. Consent was given, 
and the next day Washington, with all his officers 
about him, received Colonel Patterson, who was 
very polite, and addressed him as "Your Excel- 
lency," which did quite well, though it was dodging 
matters somewhat. He tried to explain away the 
affair of the letter and said that no impertinence 
was intended, and he then produced another, ad- 
dressed to George Washington, Esq., etc., etc. 

Evidently, Lord Howe thought he had invented 

a capital way out of the difficulty. Et cetera, ct 
cetera ! Why, that might cover everything, — Gen- 
eral-Commanding, Lord High Rebel, or anything 
else this very punctilious Virginia gentleman might 
fancy as his title. It would save Washington's 
pride and relieve Lord Howe's scruples. Wash- 
ington replied coolly, Yes, the et cetera implied 
everything, but it also implied anything or nothing. 
It was meaningless. He was not a private person ; 
this letter was meant for a public character, and 
as such he could not receive it, unless it acknowl- 
edged him properly. So Colonel Patterson was 
obliged to pocket the letter and try to cover his 
mortification and to deliver the contents verbally. 

Perhaps all this sounds like very small business. 
In reality it meant a great deal. Were Wash- 
ington and other officers rebels against the King, 
or were they the officers of a government which 
declared itself independent of the King ? Lord 
Howe gave up trying to force Washington into the 
trap, and wrote to his government that it would be 
necessary in future to give the American com- 
mander his title ; and Congress, to whom Wash- 
ington reported the matter, passed a resolution ap- 
proving of his course and directing that no letter 
or message be received on any occasion whatso- 
ever from the enemy, by the Commander-in-Chief 
or by other commanders of the American army, 
but such as should be directed to them in the char- 
acters they respectively sustained. Little things 
like this went a great way toward making the peo- 
ple stand erect and look the world in the face. 

The Americans needed, indeed, all the aid and 
comfort they could get, for it was plain that they 
were at a great disadvantage, with their half-equip- 
ped troops stationed some on Long Island and 
some in New York, between the North and East 
rivers, surrounded by Tories, who took courage 
from the presence of a large British force in the 
bay. Washington used his best endeavors to 
bring about a strong spirit of patriotism in the 
camp which should put an end to petty sectional 
jealousies, and he felt the sacredness of the cause 
in which they were engaged so deeply that he 
could not bear to have the army act or think 
otherwise than as the servants of God. He issued 
a general order which ran as follows: — 

"That the troops may have an opportunity of attending public 
worship, as well as to take some rest after the great fatigue they 
have gone through, the General, in future, excuses them from fa- 
tigue duty on Sundays, except at the ship-yards, or on special occa- 
sions, until further orders. The General is sorry to be informed 
that the foolish and wicked practice of profane cursing and swearing, 
a vice heretofore little known in an American army, is growing into 
fashion ; he hopes the officers will, by example as well as influence, 
endeavor to check it, and that both they and the men will reflect, 
that we can have little hope of the blessing of Heaven on our arms, 
if we insult it by our impiety and folly ; added to this, it is a vice so 
mean and low, withoutany temptation, that every man of sense and 
character detests and despises it." 




The time was now at hand when the army would 
be put to a severe test, and Washington was to show 
his generalship in other and more striking ways. 
The battle of Long Island was fought August 27, . 
j 776, and was a severe blow to the American army. 
Washington's first business was to withdraw such 
of the forces as remained on Long Island to the 
mainland, and unite the two parts of his army. 

for the troops to hold themselves in readiness to 
attack the enemy at night, and he made the troops 
that defended the outer line of breastworks to have 
all the air of preparation as if they were about to 
move at once upon the enemy. All this time it 
was raining and uncomfortable enough, for the 
soldiers were unprotected by tents or shelter of 
any kind, save such rude barriers as they could 


He had nine thousand men and their baggage and 
arms to bring across a swift strait, while a victo- 
rious enemy was so near that their movements 
could be plainly heard. Now his skill and energy 
were seen. He sent verbal orders for all the boats 
of whatever size that lay along the New York shore 
up the Hudson and on the East River to be 
brought to the Brooklyn side. He issued orders 

raise. They kept up a brisk firing at the outposts, 
and the men who held the advanced position were 
on the alert, expecting every moment orders to 

Then they heard dull sounds in the distance 
toward the water. Suddenly at about two o'clock 
in the morning a cannon went off with a tremendous 
explosion. Nobody knew what it was, and to this day 

I 886.] 



the accident remains a mystery. But the soldiers 
discovered what was going on. A retreat instead 
of an advance had been ordered. The order for 
an advance was intended to conceal the plan. 
Washington was on the shore superintending the 
embarkation of the troops. Some had gone over; 
when the tide turned, the wind and current were 
against them; there were not enough boats to carry 
the rest. To add to the confusion one of the offi- 
cers blundered, and the men who had been kept 
in front to conceal the movement from the British 
were ordered down to the Ferry. For a while it 
looked as if the retreat would be discovered, but it 
was not, and when morning came the entire army 
had been moved across to New York, and not a 
man in the British army knew what had been done. 
It was a great feat, and Washington, who had not 
closed his eyes for forty-eight hours, and scarcely 
left the saddle all that time, again showed himself 
a masterly general. 

He had now to show the same kind of ability the 
rest of the autumn. It requires one kind of gen- 
eralship to lead men into battle and another to 
lead them on a retreat away from the enemy. 
With a large fleet in the harbor, it was clear that 
the British could at any time destroy New York 
and any army that was there. Accordingly, Wash- 
ington withdrew his army up the island. The 
British followed. They could transport troops on 
both sides of the island, by water, and could pre- 
vent the Americans from crossing the Hudson River 
into New Jersey. They began to land troops on 
the shore of East River not far from where the 
Thirty-fourth Street Ferry now is. Some breast- 
works had been thrown up there and were held by 
soldiers who had been in the battle of Long Island. 
They seem to have been thoroughly demoralized by 
that defeat, for they fled as soon as they saw the 
British advancing, and other troops which had 
been sent to reenforce them were also seized with 
panic and fled. 

Washington heard the firing in this direction 
and galloped over to the scene. He met the sol- 
diers running away and called on them to halt. 
But they were overcome by fear and had lost their 
self-command. They paid no heed to him, and 
Washington, usually cool and self-possessed, was 
so enraged by their cowardly behavior that he 
flew into a transport of rage, flung down his hat, 
exclaiming, " Are these the men with whom I am 
to defend America ! " and drawing his pistols and 
sword in turn, rushed upon the fugitives, trying to 
drive them back to their duty. He had no fear of 
danger himself, and he was within a short distance 
of the British, riding about furiously, when one of 
his aids, seeing the danger, seized the horse's 
bridle and called his commander to his senses. 

To cover the army, Washington posted his 
forces across the narrow upper part of the island, 
from Fort Washington on the Hudson to the 
Harlem River, and here he kept the British at 
bay while his men recovered their strength and 
were ready for further movements. Meanwhile, 
across the Hudson River from Fort Washington, 
another fort, named from General Lee, had been 
built, and Washington had posted General Greene 
there. It was evident that with the British ire 
force, with an army and navy, it would be impos- 
sible to hold New York or the Hudson River, and- 
it was also clear that should Washington's army- 
be defeated there, the British would at once move 
on Philadelphia, where Congress was sitting. 
With New York commanding the Hudson River 
and with Philadelphia in their hands, the British 
would have control of the most important parts of 

Washington saw also that there was hard work 
before him and that it would be impossible to carry 
on the war with an army which was enlisted for a 
year only, and he bent his energies toward per- 
suading Congress to enlist men for a longer period. 
He had to organize this new army and to su- 
perintend countless details. His old habits of 
method and accuracy stood him in good stead 
then, and he worked incessantly, getting affairs into 
order, for he knew that the British would soon, 
move. Indeed, it is one of the strange things in 
history that the British, with the immense advan- 
tage which they had, did not at once after the 
battle of Long Island press forward and break down 
the Continental army in a quick succession of at- 
tacks by land and water. It is quite certain that 
Washington, in their place, would not have de- 
layed action. 

At the end of October, Washington occupied a 
position at White Plains, in the rocky, hilly coun- 
try north of New York. Step by step he had 
given way before General Howe, who had been 
trying to get the American army where he could 
surround it and destroy it. Washington, on the 
other hand, could not afford to run any risks. He 
wished to delay the British as long as possible, and 
not fight them till he had his new army well 
organized. There was a battle at White Plains, 
and the Americans were forced back ; but 
Washington suddenly changed his position, 
moved his men quickly to a stronger place, and 
began to dig intrenchments. He was too weak to 
fight in the open field, but he could fight with his 
spade, and he meant to give Howe all the trouble 
he could. He expected another attack, but in a 
day or two there were signs of a movement, and he 
discovered that the enemy was leaving his front. 

He was not quite, certain what Howe's plans 







General Greene, who was in command at Fort 
Lee, on the New Jersey side of the Hudson, hoped 
to keep Fort Washington, on the New York side, 
which was also under his command. He hoped to 
keep it even after the British had begun to lay 
siege to it. Washington was obliged to leave this 
business to Greene's discretion, for he was occu- 
pied with moving his army across the river, higher 
up, and if the fort could have held out, they might 
have been able to prevent the British from crossing 
to New Jersey. But Greene counted on a stouter 
defense than the men in the fort gave, and when 
Washington at last reached Fort Lee it was only 
to see from the banks of the river the surrender of 
Fort Washington with its military stores and two 
thousand men. It was a terrible loss; and, more- 
over, the capture of that fort made it impossible to 
hold Fort Lee, which was at once abandoned. 

Now began a wonderful retreat. The English 
under Lord Cornwallis, with a well-equipped army, 
and flushed with recent victory, crossed over to 
New Jersey and began moving forward. They 
were so prompt that the Americans left their kettles 
on the fire in Fort Lee as they hastily left. Wash- 
ington, with a small, ragged, discouraged army 
fell back from the enemy, sometimes leaving a 
town at one end as the British entered it at the 
other; but he broke down bridges, he destroyed 
provisions, and so hampered and delayed the 
enemy that they made less than seventy miles 
over level country in nineteen days. 

Meanwhile the British general was issuing proc- 
lamations calling upon the people of New Jersey 
to return to their allegiance, and promising them 
pardon. Many gave up and asked protection. It 
seemed as if the war were coming to an end, and 
that all the struggle had been in vain. The Ameri- 
can army, moreover, had been enlisted for a short 
term only, and before the end of December most 
of the men would have served their time. General 
Lee delayed and delayed, and Washington himself 
was harassed and well-nigh disheartened ; but he 

meant to die hard. One day, when affairs looked 
very dark, he turned to Colonel Reed, who was 
by him, and said, drawing his hand significantly 
across his throat: " Reed, my neck does not feel 
as though it was made for a halter. We must 
retire to Augusta County in Virginia, and if over- 
powered, must pass the Alleghany Mountains." 

But Washington was made for something more 
than a guerilla chieftain. He had put the Dela- 
ware River between his army and the British, who 
were now scattered over New Jersey, going into 
winter quarters, and intending, when the river was 
frozen, to cross on the ice and move upon Phila- 
delphia. Suddenly, on Christmas night, Washing- 
ton recrossed the river with his little army, making 
a perilous passage through cakes of floating ice 
that crunched against the boats, surprised a large 
detachment of Hessians near Trenton, and captured 
a thousand prisoners. Eight days later he fought 
the battle of Princeton. Within three weeks he 
had completely turned the tables. He had driven 
the enemy from every post it occupied in New 
Jersey, except Brunswick and Amboy, made Phil- 
adelphia safe, and shown the people that the 
army, which was thought to be on the verge of 
destruction, could be used in the hands of a great 
general like a rod with which to punish the enemy. 

Men were beginning to see that here was one who 
was a true leader of men. 

On the day after the victory at Trenton, Con- 
gress, "having maturely considered the present 
crisis, and having perfect reliance on the wisdom, 
vigor and uprightness of General Washington," 
passed a resolution that " General Washington 
shall be, and he is hereby, vested with full, ample, 
and complete powers to raise armies, appoint offi- 
cers, and exercise control over the parts of the 
country occupied by the army." Washington had 
been constantly checked by the necessity of refer- 
ring all questions to Congress and to his generals. 
Now he was to have full power, for he had shown 
himself a man fit to be trusted with power. 

(To he continued. ) 

By Edith M. Thomas. 

" If the weather is fair," 
Said the butterfly, jaunty and free, — 

"If the weather is fair, 
I'll go dance in the meadow there ! " 
" And I," said the prudent bee, 
" Will be early at work, you will see, — 
If the weather is fair ! " 




By C. F. Holder. 


A NUMBER of years ago, an English naturalist 
was sitting on the edge of a small stream that 
flowed sluggishly into the sea on the coast of 
British Guiana, when his attention was attracted 
by some curious holes that lined the cliff just 
above the water. He had fully determined to 
investigate these crab-caves, as he supposed them 
to be, when he was startled by seeing a fish, 

known to the natives as the " hussar," which had 
been darting up and down and apparently having 
a rollicking time, run suddenly up into shoal water, 
and begin to struggle for the shore. At first the 
naturalist thought that it was pursued by some 
larger fish and that its action was due to fright ; 
but" the fish, retaining its upright position, kept 
wriggling on slowly up the beach by using its 


60 1 

pectoral fins as feet, and in a few moments it dis- 
appeared within one of the supposed crab-holes. 

Wondering then whether the fish were hunting 
crabs, or seeking its nest, the watcher soon de- 
cided the question as he saw, farther down the 
shore, several other " hussars " entering their nests. 
Springing down, he caught a number of the fishes 
in their homes. 

The fishes had excavated the holes in the bank 
just above the surface of the water, and in them 
had formed regular nests of grass or leaves, in which 

of Opliioceplialus, one species of which is found 
in the Sea of Galilee, is a singular creature. At the 
approach of the breeding season, it seeks a favorable 
place to build — generally in shallow water. There 
perhaps an old sunken root is found, or a project- 
ing ledge of rock. To that spot bits of grass, 
leaves, growing sea-weed, and refuse of all kinds 
are brought by the parents, which now proceed 
to weave this building material into an oval 
shape. The threads of grass are wound in and 
out, entangled with one another in various ways, 


the roe or eggs were deposited. The young, when 
hatched, at once tumbled out into the water and 
were then protected by the parents. 

Such a method of rearing their young is certainly 
remarkable. In forming their nests, fishes some- 
times remind us of the birds, and some of them 
indeed may be said to equal their feathered cousins 
intheirnest-buildingfaculty. Thiscurious "hussar" 
fish may be compared with the cliff-swallow that 
burrows its way into the bluffs, and builds its nest 
several feet from the entrance, or to the Southern 
petrel, that excavates its nest in a still more won- 
derful manner. 

The fish known to naturalists by the long name 

and the interstices filled with mud. During 
the construction, one or more orifices are left 
leading into the nest or entirely through it ; the 
grasses are wound around the old root, and finally 
a compact oval nest is seen suspended and swing- 
ing in the tide, — a veritable cradle for the baby 

The eggs are deposited in the interior, and 
attach themselves to the grass and the sides of the 
nest. In due time swarms of tiny fishes fill this 
curious abode, and show a decided inclination 
to stray away. They are, however, watched and 
guarded by the parents, which drive them back 
when they wander too far from home. 




This nest-building fish of the Sea of Galilee 
displays, however, a still more curious method 
of protection, — for in time of danger, the young 
are frequently taken into the capacious mouth of 
the male parent-fish, and thus guarded from harm. 
This habit is common to quite a number of fishes. 


An enormous cat-fish called the lan-lan, that some- 
times attains a length of thirteen feet and a weight 
of over two hundred pounds, has been seen sur- 
rounded by a swarm of young, which upon the 
slightest alarm rushed into its open mouth for 
protection ; and one of the largest of the South 
American fresh-water fishes, protects its young 
in the same way. 

The method of a curious South American fish, 
called the asprcdo, is no less wonderful. The parent 
does not carry its eggs in its mouth, but fastens 
them to its body and fins, by means of stems or 
stalks; so that each egg has a sort of cradle to 
itself. As the fish rushes along, these swing to 
and fro, presenting the appearance of a number 
of barbels or bells. 

A cat-fish at Panama has still another method of 
carrying its young. This is no less than a pouch, 
reminding us of a kangaroo. But the perfection of 
this paternal care — for it is the father that has the 
pouch — is observed in the sea-horses and pipe- 
fishes. These have a perfect pouch, into which the 

infant fishes are taken as soon as hatched, and 
in which they are carried about until they are able 
to make their own way in the world. A sea-horse 
in charge of its young is a very curious sight. The 
parent fastens its prehensile tail about some 
pieces of weed, and drives the young fry into 
the outer world, and soon a host of young sea- 
colts are seen moving along upright in the 
water by the curious screw movement of their 
dorsal or back fins, a body of them appearing 
like a tiny cloud in the water. The little creatures 
are so helpless that many of them — sometimes 
the entire brood — fall a prey to other fishes. 
They are, however, provided with a means of pro- 
tection by their resemblance to plants. The pipe- 
fishes look much like the grass among which they 
live, and the sea-horses are often decorated with 
curious barbels and fringes that resemble the weeds 
under cover of which they hide themselves. 

Among the fishes of the ocean that show a 
decided affection for their young, should be men- 
tioned the curious Cyclopterus lumpus — the lump- 
fish, or "hen and chickens," so common upon the 
coast of Maine. The name " lump-fish" expresses 
the general appearance of this fish far better than 
a long description could, as the creature's body 
is covered with curious lumps and excrescences 
that add to the peculiarity of its appearance. 
The lump-fish is equally common on the Eng- 
lish coast, and as the time for rearing a family 
approaches, it constructs from the sea-weed a rude 
nest for the protection of the eggs. These the 
watchful parents guard, their ugly forms, probably, 
having a decided effect upon all intruders, though, 
in truth, the lump-fishes are utterly incapable of 
harming any enemy, and, with their clumsy move- 
ments, are unable to catch other fishes in a chase. 
As soon as the young are hatched, they follow one 
of the parent-fishes, in a drove or herd, clustering 
about its head, now darting off, returning with 
a rush and cuddling under it, after the manner 
of small chickens seeking refuge under their 
mother's wings; hence the name of "hen and 
chickens " bestowed upon them by the English 

Though the lump-fishes are poor swimmers, and 
likely, if hurled among the breakers, to be thrown 
upon the shore, nature has provided them with 
ample means of protection. The lower fins join 
in such a way as to form a complete sucker, so 
that when in danger of being knocked about by 
the waves, the fish has merely to settle upon a 
rock, fasten its sucker-like fins to this, and ride 
out the gale or season of danger like a ship at 
anchor on a lee shore. 


60 ' 

By M. L. B. Branch. 

We 're going this year to Littleton, 
My wife, our Jack, and Nan and I. 

Now Nan is seven, and Jack is ten ; 
How many tickets shall I buy? 

Jack pays half-fare, and Nan pays none, 
Though with her dolls she fills a seat; 

However stern conductors are, 

They give her only glances sweet. 

But this year, Nan her kitten takes, 
A little, purring, playful thing ; 

While Jacky has a grave young pug, 
Which everywhere he 's bound to bring 

Nan has a long-legged Brahma chick, — 
She loves that pet with all her heart ; 

And Jacky owns three pretty doves, 
From which he can not bear to part. 

"In cage and basket," say the two, 
" Well covered up, our pets can go." 

They have no doubts; but I have mine,— 
And this is what I want to know : 

If the cat mews, the puppy barks, 
And if the doves at once all coo, 

And if the Brahma chicken crows, 
As the conductor passes through, 

What will he say? How will he look? 

What shall I do, in my despair? 
Can I, for such a tribe, hand up 

Our tickets two, and one half-fare ? 

We 're going this year to Littleton, 
My wife, our Jack, and Nan and I, 

Dog, cat, three dolls, three doves, a chick • 
How many tickets shall I buy ? 


By Jessie Pennijian. 

The violet blooms in a shady place 

Where the sun comes peeping through ; 

The hare-bell grows on gray old rocks 
And shows its robes of blue. 

The May-flower grows on a wooded hill 
At the foot of the green old pines, 

Where the ferns and moss in clusters show 
And the checker-berry twines. 

These all grow in the fairest bowers; 
There is no room for the daisy flowers. 

So the daisy grows by the dusty road, 

Sweet and sunny and shy, 
Lifting its pretty, modest head 

To nod to each passer-by. 

Why do you grow by 
the roadside, 
dear ? 
It is all dust 
and sand; 

Come to the vio- 
let's shady 
Or join the May- 
flower's band." 

But the daisy said : 
"The violet's place 
Is better for her, you 
And the May-flower's 
place is better for 
And mine is the best 
for me." 





[A Summer Visitor s Account of Camp C/iocorim.] 

By Elizabeth Balch. 

In the Indian language the meaning of 
"Asquam" is "shining waters," and surely no 
name could better describe the beautiful lake of 
sparkling blue, which, nestling among the noble 
White Mountains, is dotted with numerous islands. 
Upon one of these islands is Camp Chocorua, so 
called from the mountain of that name, — the 
highest point to be seen in the chain of hills 
inclosing the lake. 

Some five years ago it was decided to establish 
on this island a summer camp for boys, the term 
to begin in June, and to end about the tenth of Sep- 
tember. The first summer the camp opened with 
some half-dozen boys. Last season, twenty-five 
manly little fellows tumbled in and out of the lake, 
like water brownies, perfectly fearless, paddling 
canoes which had been made by themselves, swim- 
ming equally well in clothes or without, and grow- 
ing active and healthy in the strong, pure mountain 

Five men, composing "the faculty" in this sum- 
mer camp, have charge of the boys, and "freedom 
without license " might almost be the camp motto, 
so careless, happy, and untrammeled are the lads, 
yet so perfect is the discipline. One of the first 
principles of the camp system is, that in every 
way the faculty shall live the same lives as the boys 
themselves, sharing their work as well as their 
pleasures ; the spirit existing between the two is 
therefore far less that of master and pupil than that 
of good comrades, who are at the same time helpful 

Life at Camp Chocorua is a busy one. There 
are no "book lessons," to be sure ; but a good many 
things are taught that are not always to be found 
in books. To begin with, bracing mountain air 
and active out-of-door life give a keen appetite, 
and it is no small undertaking to provide food for 
twenty or thirty hungry mouths. Then, too, the tin 
dishes and plates in which the food is cooked and 
eaten have to be cleaned and kept in order, and 
"dish-washing" therefore becomes a necessity. 
The kitchen-beach is a lively place at these times. 
In the carpenter's shop, there is work of various 
kinds to be done ; there, too, canoes are built, but 
no boy is allowed to paddle or sail a canoe until 
he is an adept at swimming, and can be trusted 
to take care of himself in the water. This rule is 
one of the strictest in camp. The Golden Rod is 
the camp newspaper. It is edited and entirely con- 

ducted by the boys. In its columns appears a notice 
to the effect that the " Good Will Contracting 
Company washes clothes, irons clothes, cleans and 
tidies beaches, builds piers, stone walls, steps, etc., 
carries dirt and publishes newspapers." From 
this announcement idleness would seem to stand 
but a poor chance at Camp Chocorua. The boys 
are divided into four crews, and these crews 
undertake in turn the different kinds of work : 
one day, the cooking ; the next, dish-washing ; 
the third, police duty, which includes the tidy- 
ing of beaches, and all work assigned to no 
other crew. The fourth day is "off duty." This 


changes the kind of work done daily, and yet 
gives each boy a chance of learning all the tasks. 
One of the faculty works with each crew of boys. 

The boys sleep in wooden buildings, which are 
roofed over, but thoroughly ventilated, and the lads 
seem cozy enough lying curled up in army blankets 
or on mattresses placed on the floor. They may, if 
they wish, take a dip in the lake before breakfast, 




and no one who has not tried it can realize the 
brightening, bracing, " wakening-up" effect of that 
morning dip ! How it clears the brain and invigor- 
ates the body, 
making one feel 
equal to all 
things, strong 
and ready to do! 
The regular 
morning swim 
does not take 
place until later, 
— about eleven 
o'clock, after 
the camp work 
is completed. 
All through the 
week the boys 

may wear shoes 

and stockings, 

or they may go 

barefoot, just as 

they happen to 

fancy, and the 

camp costume 

consists of a 

gray flannel 

shirt and short 


On Sundays, 

however, they 

all wear, in ad- 
dition, scarlet 

stockings, and 

scarlet caps, 

while their gray 

shirts are laced 

with scarlet 

cords. A bonny 

for the choir, whilst Mr. Ernest Balch takes his on 
the other side of the flower-decked rock, and reads 
the service. 

*4 s <■ 

crew they look, 
as they push off 

in the " church boat" at three o'clock, to meet, at 
Cox's beach, half a mile away, f.ny visitors from the 
neighboring hotel or farm-houses who may wish to 
join in the Sunday services. These are conducted 
in a lovely spot called the "chapel," on the farther 
side of the island. Rustic seats are ranged around 
an open space, in the center of which, above a rock 
forming a natural altar, rises a large cross made of 
white birch. This altar is dressed with leaves and 
flowers by the boys, before the service begins ; and 
after the little congregation is assembled, one hears 
in the distance clear young voices singing some 
processional hymn, and along a path through the 
woods, with the sunlight dancing in and out among 
the branches, the boys come nearer and nearer. 
Then they take their places at the place appointed 


The offertory made at these services goes to the 
different charities contributed to by the camp, and 
more than one sick boy or girl in different hospi- 
tals have whiled away hours of loneliness and suf- 
fering by reading St. NICHOLAS, which those 
happy, healthy boys at Camp Chocorua have sent 
them as a solace in their pain. Sunday afternoon 
is devoted to writing letters to home-folk, and in 
the evening, at prayers, Mr. Balch has a quiet 
talk with the boys in the chapel. 

The summer sports take place in August, and 
consist of fancy swimming and diving, canoe and 
boat racing, base-ball and tennis. Last year the 
parents and friends of the boys, to the number of 
one hundred, accepted the invitation of the camp, 
and dined there at the conclusion of the sports, 




which lasted two days. A few weeks later some 
little plays were acted by the boys. These were 
very clever productions, and they were excellently 
performed. The price of admission was modestly 
placed at fifteen cents, but the visitors gave more 
than that, since the object of the entertainment 
was to add to money already collected which was 
to be devoted to endowing a bed in a children's 
free hospital, so soon as the required amount 
could be raised. A huge bonfire was burning 
brightly on the shore, and dozens of red-capped 

allowance is given to every boy, no matter what 
may be the difference in their parents' means. This 
allowance is small, and if more money is desired, 
either for candy, or soda water, or as a contribution 
to the charities, or to buy materials for a new canoe, 
or to purchase a canoe already built, — for any extra 
luxury in fact, — the boy with such desires is obliged 
to earn the money needed, and work which is paid 
for at the regular rate of wages for labor will always 
be furnished him whereby he can earn it. Con- 
tracts can be taken for leveling paths, or building 


TP Wf! 


boys darting about in its ruddy blaze, proved 
a picturesque contrast to the great white moon 
as it rose slowly above the mountains and threw 
a broad band of silvery light across the lake, 
while from boat to boat cheery "good-nights" 
rang over the water as the guests who had en- 
joyed the evening's festivities were rowed to shore. 
These charities at Camp Chocorua mean, in the 
purest sense of the words. " helping others out of 
one's own store," for the money contributed by the 
boys is their own, fairly earned by them to do with 
as they please. Once in camp, an equal weekly 

walls, or anything else which is needed at the 
camp, and the money earned by such work is 
deposited in the Chocorua Bank by the boy earn- 
ing it. Against this amount on deposit, he draws 
his check in strict business fashion, which check 
is duly honored and cas led. If at the end of the 
term any surplus remains to his credit, he has 
entire right to dispose of it as he may choose, but 
no money from home is granted a boy exceeding 
the original sum stipulated as his weekly allowance. 
Just as men work and make money, and learn how 
to use that money in the outer world, so do these 




boys work, and make money and use it in this 
miniature world at Camp Chocorua. By the time 
they are ready to enter a larger sphere in life, they 
know and appreciate the worth of money honestly 
earned, and understand the true art of spending it. 
Lest the boys should in truth become very water- 
sprites, they go, toward the end of the term, for a 
week's tramp over the hills. A large canvas- 
topped wagon, drawn by oxen, carries blankets 
and provisions, and any boys who grow tired 
and foot-sore can have a lift when they feel like 
it. They camp out at night and have many amus- 
ing adventures by day ; and at the different farm- 
houses to which they come in their wanderings, 

fresh milk is willingly furnished to the jolly, 
brown-faced, red-capped lads, who make the hills 
ring cheerily with their songs and laughter. Each 
year the youngest boy of the whole party is called 
the camp " infant," and is accorded several extra 
privileges, not the least of which is the right of 
tasting the ice-cream whenever it is made, without 
having been obliged to assist in making it. 

Were I a boy, the life at Camp Chocorua would 
be my idea of a thoroughly good time, combining 
as it does plenty of fun, and a free, open-air life, 
with the acquisition of much useful knowledge for 
one's self, and the habit of exercising a thoughtful 
helpfulness for others. 

By One of the Campers. 

" Under the greenwood tree, 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And tune his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat; 
Who doth ambition shun, 
And loves to live in the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats, 
And pleased with what he gets, — 
Come hither, come hither, come hither, 
Here shall he see 
No enemy." — 

These lines from Shakspere's "As You Like It" 
came to me again and again as Papa finished the 
reading of a circular which a friend had handed him. 

" Camp Harvard," so the circular declared, " is 
located on the shore of one of New Hampshire's 
most picturesque lakes, about equidistant from 
Winchendon, Mass., and Rindge, N. H. The 
design of the camp is to furnish boys with a rational 
and healthy outdoor life during the summer months, 
where, under competent care and supervision, they 
can learn to swim, row, fish, do some tramping 
and mountain-climbing, and engage in other 
manly sports; form and cultivate good habits, 
and build up their bodily strength. The cabins 
are of wood, roofed, floored, commodious, and 
weatherproof. Each member has a cot. The 
best of wholesome food is provided." 

" I know one of the two young men who estab- 
lished Camp Harvard," said Papa, as he concluded 
the reading of the circular. " They are students 
at the Cambridge Theological Seminary. I have 
made some inquiries, and I shall be glad to have 
you spend the summer in the woods with them. I 
presume the other boys will be much younger than 
yourself, but you would, doubtless, find many of 
them companionable ; and life in the open air, for 

a couple of months, would, I think, be pleasant 
and beneficial to you." 

It was a long time before I fell asleep that 
night. I had always been anxious to camp out, 
and here was a glorious opportunity. 

Then followed busy days. The circular said : 
"Boys are recommended to bring, in addition 
to the clothes they travel in, two gray flannel 
shirts, two pairs old trousers, knickerbockers 
(one pair corduroy), long rubber coat, swim- 
ming trunks, two pairs heavy blankets (dark), 
strong shoes (one or two pairs with rubber soles), 
old overcoat, ordinary underclothing, stout red 
belt, high stockings (two pairs dark red), slippers, 
night-shirts or pajamas, brush and comb, sponge, 
towels, soap-case, two tooth-brushes, tennis rac- 
quet, skull-cap, belt-knife, and an old jacket." 

Mamma saw that I was supplied with all these 
things, and on the morning of July 1, I took my 
place on a railroad train, bound for Rindge. As 
we approached Rindge, I spied a large mount- 
ain-wagon with four horses drawn up alongside 
the shanty which served as a depot. I was confi- 
dent that this was for the campers, for it already 
contained five boys. Ten boys left the train. 
The divinity student, who was one of the " mas- 
ters " of the camp, and whom I had already met 
in the city, welcomed me, and we all took seats 
in the wagon. Up hill and down we traveled, and 
the horses seemed to enjoy it as much as we did. 
Mountain drivers have a way of slowing up 
their horses going downhill, and sending them up 
on a gallop. Now the road wound along a narrow 
ledge beside Monomonock and thence onward 
through a dense forest, where tall, straight sugar- 




maples raised their leafy crowns high in air ; smooth 
beeches, with round, gray trunks, stood like mas- 
sive pillars ; and great yellow birches, with shaggy, 
curling bark and gnarled limbs, rose like monarchs 

softly. Then there is a rustling of leaves, a patter- 
ing of quick, light feet, and a red squirrel runs 
along a. fallen trunk, peers at one curiously, and, 
half in fear, half in audacity, gives its sharp, shrill 


above the lesser trees. Finally, a sudden turn 
in the road brought us face to face with the 
words, "Camp Harvard," in large red letters 
on a sign suspended from a noble oak. The 
gate -bars were down and a ride of less than half 
a mile farther brought us to a pretty grove where 
clustered the cabins that composed the camp. 

Who has not felt the pleasures of life in the 
forest ? It is quite impossible to put them into 
words, or to make one who has never experienced 
them understand what they are. 

There is a sense of freedom and freshness every 
hour. A round of simple, natural toils and amuse- 
ments fills up each day. The ear soon becomes 
attuned to the surroundings, and it begins to hear a 
gentle sound, like the dropping of ceaseless rain. 
It is the pattering of the minute particles falling 
from spruce and pine and hemlock, to mingle with 
decaying roots and underbrush and form the rich, 
dark forest-mold on which every step falls so 

bark. A little bird which one can not see pierces 
the air with a slender, long-drawn note. A wood- 
pecker beats his sounding tattoo on a hollow tree, 
and, growing bolder, comes nearer and nearer, 
until perhaps he ventures to try the very trunk 
against which you are leaning. 

Everything about the camp was examined by us 
with great interest. First the cookhouse, where a 
man was preparing dinner. This cabin contained 
a range, two long tables, a refrigerator, and a 
great quantity of cooking utensils. All the dishes, 
cups, saucers, and platters were of tin and 
shone like mirrors. Adjoining, was the store- 
house, which was the base of table supplies. 
The sleeping cabin was about fifty feet in 
length and oblong, with a slanting roof. The 
upper half of sides and rear were " flaps," swing- 
ing on hinges. These were open during the day, 
but usually closed at night. Above the flaps was an 
open space of fourteen inches all around, and over 




this the eaves projected. Cots were ranged about 
the sides of the cabin, and choice of these was de- 
cided by lot. At one end was an open veranda, 
where the dining-tables stood. Large reflecting 
lanterns were placed at intervals, and several small 
lights hung in a row near the entrance. 

There were an ample medicine chest and other 
useful camp features, and over one end of the 
cabin was a loft for trunks. Fifty feet from the ca- 
bin was the beach. The pretty lake showed scarcely 

while old Monadnock towered aloft as commander 
over all. 

The tooting of a horn summoned us back to 
headquarters. Trunks were put in place, blankets 
and the camp toggery brought forth; we exchanged 
our city clothes for the latter, and life at Camp 
Harvard began. Consulting the bulletin, I found 
myself assigned to duty as " table-boy," with one 
of the fellows who came up on the train as my 
associate. It was new work for me, but one of the 


a ripple upon its fair surface. It was three miles 
long and at some points a mile wide, with many 
coves and inlets. Part of it seemed like a succession 
of small lakes. Along the shore, were boats in 
great variety, from the flat-bottomed fishing-boats 
to the racing gig with its outriggers and delicate 
tines. The silent hills beyond lifted themselves 
toward heaven in the glory of enduring strength, 
Vol. XIII.— 39. 

masters took hold with us. The table was soon set 
and a steaming hot dinner was brought from the 
cookhouse. Grace was said by one of the masters, 
the company all standing with bare heads ; then 
caps were resumed and hungry appetites began to be 
appeased. Great milk-cans, each holding ten quarts, 
were brought up from the icehouse. The supply 
of bread, vegetables, or meat needed constant 




replenishing. When dinner was over and the table 
had been cleared and the floor swept, my duties 
ceased until supper-time. The camp work was done 
by detachments of boys whose assignments varied 
with each day. A bulletin containing the assignments 
for the following day was posted each evening, so that 
every boy knew in advance what was required of 
him. All campers, masters included, shared the 
daily labors. The plan succeeded admirably. Each 
boy grew to be particular in the discharge of his 
duties, for neglect was seen to be a boomerang. 
For instance, if the boy whose special care hap- 
pened to be drinking-water, failed to keep up a 
fresh supply, the other fellows who had to suffer 
for his shortcomings made life a burden to him ; 
and so the whole camp acted as a sort of police 
force to keep each member up to the mark. This 
arrangement transferred much responsibility from 
the masters to the boys themselves, and a sense 
of responsibility is a good thing for anybody. 

After supper, a roaring camp-fire was built, and 
by this time we all were very well acquainted, and 
gradually came out of our shells. The masters were 
plied with questions, and yarns were spun. Per- 
haps the pleasantest feature of camp life was 
the evening gathering around the blazing logs, and 
the nine o'clock horn always seemed to toot ahead 
of time. The brother of one of the masters had 
spent a year among the mines and ranches of 
Colorado, and his graphic descriptions and thrilling 
tales were admirably adapted to our willing ears. 
Songs we always had. They may not have ranked 
high as literary productions ; any lack in this 
respect, however, was more than made up by their 
spirited rendering. Here is one, to the tune of 
" It 's a way we have at old Harvard ": 

" It 's a way we have at Camp Harvard, 
It 's a way we have at Camp Harvard, 
It 's a way we have at Camp Harvard, 
To pass the time away. 
]f I'd a son or a ward, sir, 
A ' dig,' a prig, or a bard, sir, — 
I 'd send him to Camp Harvard, sir, 
To pass the time away. 

" For we 'd like to have you know, sir, 
That shirking is no go, sir; 
First work, then play, and so, sir, 
We pass the time away. 

" Now if you really wish, sir, 
An epicurean dish, sir, 
Just wait till we bake this fish, sir, 
To pass the time away." 

— and so on through several stanzas. 

By ten o'clock every night, we wrapped ourselves 
up in ourblankets, lights went out, and silence reign- 
ed. I did n't chafe much under this rule, for the 
true camper is always asleep as soon as he lies down. 
The next thing I heard was a buzzing sound — 
the alarm clock had rung, it was half-past six, and 

the sunlight was streaming in upon the campers. 
Several of us jumped into the lake for a bath ; later 
in the season this morning plunge became general, 
and every fellow had to report with soap and tooth- 
brush. After breakfast, there came the usual camp 
work, — lanterns to be filled, the sleeping cabin to 
be swept out, various "police" duties to be attend- 
ed to, and fuel to be provided ; at eleven, there was 
instruction in swimming. And so the days went by. 
The work was so systematized as not to fall heavily 
upon any one person, unless he shirked ; and there 
was ample time for base-ball, cricket, tennis, fish- 
ing, boating, and other amusements. When the 
days were very warm, hammocks were very popu- 
lar. The Fourth of July was celebrated with ap- 
propriate exercises. The Stars and Stripes floated 
gayly from our staff, and the cabins were decked 
with bunting and small flags. At night, the farmers 
and woodsmen, with their sisters, cousins, aunts, 
and sweethearts, began to swarm down upon us 
and lined the lake shore. Our fireworks were set 
off from a scow anchored one hundred yards from 
land, and the effect w r as fine. 

Sunday morning breakfasts were after the 
most approved New England fashion, — baked 
beans, brown bread, fishballs, and chocolate. 
Everybody was expected to write a letter home 
during the forenoon. After dinner came the 
choir rehearsal, followed by four o'clock service in 
a picturesque little opening in the woods which 
nature seemed to have designed for a chapel. 
There rough benches had been made under the 
shadowy trees, and the sylvan chancel had been 
carpeted with moss. At the back of the chancel, 
stood a great rude cross, outlined boldly against 
the somber background of dense forest ; and di- 
rectly before us was a rustic pulpit. Our Sunday 
service in this woodland sanctuary was attended 
by large numbers of strangers, many driving 
a distance of twelve or fifteen miles. The master 
who acted as minister wore a white surplice and 
read the sendee of the Episcopal Church. The 
chants and a familiar hymn were sung to a violin 
accompaniment. Then came a short address. 

A collection was always taken up in behalf of 
the Charity Fund, which, at the end of the season, 
the boys voted to divide between the Sheltering 
Arms Nursery of Brooklyn, and the Boys' Home in 

The mail arrived at noon and sunset each day, 
being brought by "the captain," an aged mem- 
ber of an historic New Hampshire family. The 
captain was often accompanied by his good wife. 
She was a motherly creature, and both were prime 
favorites at camp. The captain had served his 
country in the war, and had many a yarn to spin. 

The camp dog was a splendid Newfoundland 



named Duke, and he was the champion swimmer. 
Two of the campers had cameras and took photo- 
graphs, which they sold at good profit. 

We were often visited by city people boarding 
at some one of the farmhouses within a radius of 
ten or twelve miles. Some of these visitors came 
often, and apparently found considerable satisfac- 
tion in observing the details of camp life. Some 
of us knew a number of Boston and New York 
people at one of the most popular of these board- 


ing-houses, and one day these friends gave us a 
most enjoyable entertainment, consisting of a 
lawn-party, a tennis tournament, and a supper. At 
another time, we went to a sheet-and-pillow-case 
party at the same place. Later on, some friends 
at another boarding-house delighted us with 
a series of tableaux and charades, followed by 

Several business partnerships were formed among 
the boys. Contracts for work were awarded to the 
firms making the lowest bids. The successful 
bidders would hire other boys to help them. The 
specifications had to be strictly observed. Among 
other things, a new wharf was built, one of the 
cabins shingled, and another covered with tar- 

Boys could do as they pleased with money 
earned in this way. Idleness was not popular. 

One fine day, we took a long tramp up Mount 
Monadnock. An early start was made, and by 
noon we had covered more than half the distance. 
Halt was ordered in a shady grove, and before 
long our wagon arrived with blankets, rubber coats, 
cooking utensils, provisions, and various tools. We 
had a substantial lunch while resting on the banks 
of a pretty brook, before we resumed our march. 
We soon reached the 
base of the mountain, and 
then the climb began. But 
it is a long lane that knows 
no turning, and rest came 
at last. We drove stakes 
in a picturesque glen on 
a plateau just below the 
summit, — a well-chosen 
spot, shielded from the 
wind. A bountiful sup- 
ply of fuel and of pine 
boughs for bedding was 
immediately secured. A 
fireplace was built, and our 
supper soon began to stew 
in the great kettle which 
hung from a tripod. One 
of our favorite dishes was 
flapjacks. Numerous vis- 
itors came from the fash- 
ionable hotel down the 
mountain, where, the next 
evening, an impromptu 
entertainment was given 
to us. We were on the 
mountain three days, and 
they were full of incident 
and pleasure. At night, 
we slept around the blazin g 
logs, and two boys were 
assigned to stand watch each hour, so that no one 
was deprived of much sleep. Every fellow washed 
his own plate, cup, knife, and spoon after each 
meal, and submitted them for inspection to one 
of the boys who acted as assistant-master. We all 
were sorry to leave the old mountain. But it was 
good to plant foot once more upon our native 
heath. And Camp Harvard was always dearer 
than ever when we returned to it after such an 

Until he could swim a certain distance, no 
camper was allowed in the boats. All of the boys 
were soon quite at home in and on the water. 
One of the Philadelphia boys made the best mile 
record. There were various organizations in camp, 
such as cricket, base-ball, tennis, and rowing clubs, 




and a society of naturalists. Then there were 
various committees. The steward of the Charity 
Fund was very energetic, and before we broke up 
camp, he had collected a great quantity of used 
clothing, which we voted to divide between the 
newsboys of New York and Boston. 

On August 13 and 14 came the annual ath- 
letic meeting. There were all sorts of exercises, 
with first and second prizes in each, and entries 
closed on the 12th. Crowds of visitors came each 
day. The tennis tournament was hotly contested 
in both singles and doubles, but the boat races and 
tug-of-war were the most exciting events. Long 
and short distance walking and running ; sack and 
obstacle races ; throwing the hammer ; climbing ; 
running, standing, and broad jumps ; diving ; 
swimming contests, — all were included in the pro- 
gramme. On the night of the 14th, we entertained 
a large company of visitors at supper, and a lady 
very gracefully presented the prizes. Then fol- 
lowed fireworks and music. I had won either first 
or second prizes in several events, and experienced 
the proud distinction of having my name tele- 
graphed to a Boston paper, whose editor was rusti- 
cating near by. Some of the records were very 
good, considering that the boys, with the single 
exception of myself, were only from ten to fourteen 
years old. 

There was not a single case of serious accident 
or illness for the camp diary to record. We were 
all healthily bronzed, and were as hardy as only life 

in the open air can make boys ; and I am sure that 
camp life enabled us all to do better work at school 
during the winter. 

We broke camp on the morning of September 1. 
The night before, we had as guests our neighbors 
for miles around. Our good friends the Deacon 
and the Captain each made touching speeches, and 
the camp resounded again and again with three 
times three " 'rahs " for them and other summer 
friends, each named in turn. The night was very 
cold, but every heart was warm. Sky-rockets shot 
through the air, bombs, flower-pots, and other fire- 
works exploded, and Lake Monomonock looked 
almost like a sheet of fire. Then amid this blaze 
of glory our guests departed to the tune of our 
favorite song. Lake Monomonock settled down 
to its somber stillness ; old cloud-capped Mon- 
adnock loomed above us like the great pyramid, 
and now came a realizing sense of the sad parting 
which the morrow threatened to bring us. 

Morning came at last. The wind blew fresh 
and made the air as clear as crystal. Four-horse 
teams were in readiness, horns were produced, and 
with one long last look, off we started. Our wood- 
land home never seemed so fair as when we turned 
our faces away from it. Those fragrant pine-trees 
had heard boys cheer before, but never until now 
with such lusty vigor and manifest feeling had 
come forth that inspiring watch-cry of: 

" 'Rah ! 'rah ! 'rah ! 'rah ! 'rah ! 'rah ! 'rah ! 'rah ! 
'rah ! Camp Harvard ! " 


By Edith M. Thomas. 

ROBIN on the tilting bough, 
Red-breast rover, tell me how 
You the weary time have passed 
Since we saw and heard you last. 

" In a green and pleasant land, 
By a summer sea-breeze fanned, 
Orange-trees with fruit are bent ; 
There the weary time I Ve spent.' 

Robin rover, there, no doubt, 
Your best music you poured out ; 
Piping to a stranger's ear, 
You forgot your lovers here. 

" Little lady, on my word, 
You do wrong a true-heart bird ! 
Not one ditty would I sing, 
'Mong the leaves or on the wing, 
In the sun or in the rain ; 
Stranger's ear would list in vain. 
If I ever tried a note, 
Something rose within my throat. 

'T was because my heart was true 
To the North and spring-time new ; 

My mind's eye a nest could see 
In yon old, forked apple-tree ! " 

(Note. — It is said that the robin does not sing during its winter stay in the South.) 



By Daisy Jones. 

Little Miss Mabel, 

Brimming with play, 

Turned, into Grandmamma 

All in a day. 
"Now, children, you see 

How I look," said she, 
" And Grandmamma Harris 

Looked, just like me. 

They always do ; it 's the 
natural way. 

All children take after their 
Grandmas, they say." 


Mr. Atherton has been the master of the 
Centreville Academy ever since I can remember. 
A few months ago, however, he was offered a bet- 
ter position in the city, and he decided to leave 
Centreville. We were very sorry, for we all liked 
him ; and now that he has left, it really seems as 
if a part of the building itself had been taken away. 

We were to have a public examination during 
the last two days of his stay, and Florence Grant- 
ley had thought of a beautiful project. She always 
has good ideas, though I must say they are gener- 
ally rather expensive. But then her father is rich, 
and I suppose she never has to think twice before 
spending a dollar, as some of us are obliged to do. 
Her plan was to buy an album, put all our pictures 
in it, and present it to Mr. Atherton before the com- 
pany, after he had closed the school. The girls 
wished me to make the presentation address. Of 

course I was enthusiastic about it, and went home 
thinking over what I should say and should wear, 
and all that. There are fifteen girls in our class, 
and Florence said she knew of a lovely album, one 
we would n't be ashamed to give him. It would 
cost only eleven dollars and twenty-five cents ; and 
that, you see, would be only seventy-five cents 
apiece. I went in to dinner full of the new project, 
and began to talk about it at the table. 

But Father vetoed it at once. He said he 
did n't believe in the idea at all. It would be too 
expensive for some of us, and he did not wish to 
hear another word about it. 

When Father takes that tone, of course there 's 
no more to be said. I am too old to cry before 
everybody, but I did n't wish any more dinner, 
and as soon as possible I went up to my room and 
had a good cry. 




Mother came upstairs as quickly as she could. I 
knew she would. Mother is a born comforter. Oh, 
what do girls do who have no mother? She told me 
I must remember how hard Father had to work for 
every dollar, and that although what he said some- 
times sounded harsh, it was only because his busi- 
ness troubles made him worry, and it added to them 
to have us wish for things he felt he could n't 
afford. Dear Mother ! I wonder if she ever wishes 
for things she does n't get. 

Then I told Mother all about it ; that it was not 
merely that one plan, but that I could never join 
in any project that came up. All the other girls 
had birthday parties and I went, but never gave 
one in return. " Of course I don't expect that," 
said I, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as I saw 
the look on Mother's face. " Birthdays are so com- 
mon in this family, of course we can't notice them ; 
but I thought this time we had found something 
Father could sympathize with. He so often speaks 
of Mr. Atherton, and the respect hfe has for him — 
but of course that 's all over now. If I can't, I 
can't; it does seem hard though never to do as the 
others do.'.' 

" I know it, child," Mother said, softly touching 
my hair. " Many things are hard. You are old 
enough now to know a little of the life of your el- 
ders," she went on ; " and you must remember that 
it is absolute necessity, and not lack of sympathy, 
that forces Papa to say no, as he sometimes does." 

"Well, if he would only soften it a little," I 
could n't help saying. "A blunt no is a great deal 
harder to bear." 

" I know, dear," Mother said, with a sigh ; " but 
Father thinks he does what is best." 

" But what can I say, Mother. I must let them 
know I can't contribute. This very afternoon 
they '11 all be talking of it." 

" Tell them nothing positively. Say as little as 
possible ; and give me time to think." 

At this, my mind was relieved immediately. I 
was sure the trouble would somehow end in just the 
right way, though I knew Mother could n't squeeze 
the money from the housekeeping allowance, even 
if she could think it right to do so after what Father 
had said. But I had faith that Mother would man- 
age for me, so I went to school, feeling very con- 
fident, and said as little as possible. 

That night Mother came to my room and told me 
to invite all of my class to spend Thursday evening 
with us. " You know Grandpa sent us a barrel 
of apples," she said, "a bushel of nuts, and some 
corn to pop. May be I '11 make a cake or two, and 
the coffee will not cost much. Fortunately, we have 
dishes enough. That will offset the birthday par- 
ties a little, and make you have a good time, too. 
If you know any really nice boys, invite them, and 

may be Papa '11 get out his violin, and you can have 
a little dance." 

You see, Mother was a girl herself once. She 
does n't forget her feelings, and she talks over such 
things with me just as though she were another 
girl. Of course I was only too delighted to obey, 
but still, I must confess, although it was very 
nice, it did n't help me out of the real difficulty a 
bit. It gave the girls something fresh to talk about, 
however ; and as it would be three weeks before 
Mr. Atherton would leave, the subject of his 
present dropped out of sight for a few days. 

But that matter of the boys troubled me a great 
deal. We girls are all about fourteen and fifteen, 
and really, while we are almost young ladies, 
boys at that age are very boyish. They don't 
know what to do with their hands, nor how to ask 
one to dance, nor to do anything nicely. I mean 
the generality of boys ; of course my brothers do, but 
then they have had Mamma to train them, and sis- 
ters to practice with ever since they were little, 
which, of course, makes a difference. If it were not 
that I hated to give up the dancing, and if it was n't 
such a bother to dance with a girl with a handker- 
chief tied on her arm — because she keeps forget- 
ting she is a boy, and taking the wrong hand and 
everything is put out — I should have given up 
the idea of asking any boys. 

Again I flew to my never-failing refuge in time 
of trouble, and Mother drew out her needle slowly 
from the stocking she was darning, and began to 
consider the matter. 

" You see, Mother, it is n't a grand affair, but 
I want it to be as pleasant a time of its kind as 
possible, and a lot of awkward boys would just 
spoil it." 

" Now, don't decry the boys, my dear ; they are 
a very good institution in their place." 

"Yes, indeed, but their place is sliding downhill, 
or skating, not in a girls' party trying to be agree- 
able ; and they have sense enough to know it. You 
know yourself how impossible it is to get Joe to go 
anywhere with me, and he is a model of politeness, 
compared with most of his associates." 

" Well, it would n't be quite fair to punish the 
boys, and girls, too, in trying to amuse them," 
Mother replied. "There are boys enough who 
would be interested in this little gathering of yours. 
There are those three lads at the minister's, who 
are fitting themselves for college. They are not 
more than sixteen years old, and ought not to be 
above a little informal party. Besides, Mrs. Grey 
told me she wished they knew some people who 
would make their stay pleasanter for them. Then 
there is young Mr. Adams, at Dr. Preston's, I know 
he would come, and his mother wrote me, asking 
me to be good to him." 



"Oh, what a dear mother you are, that puts 
the success of the thing beyond doubt!" 

"There are four good names, then, to start 
with, " said Mother; "and those, with John and 
Sam, Father's young friends, will be a good begin- 
ning. As for the rest, let the girls themselves 
invite them ; there's nothing like making people 
responsible for the success of a thing." 

Well, the next day being Wednesday I took the 
class into my confidence, and between us all we 
made out a list of gentlemanly and agreeable boy- 
friends; but the four that Mother took it upon 
herself to invite were the best of all. 

Well, every one came ; not one of the thirty was 
missing. Through all Father's troubles, we had 
kept our house, because Mother's father gave it 
to her when she married. It was a large old-fash- 
ioned house with a wide hall that went right 
through it ; two sets could dance there and one in 
each parlor. When I was tired, Mother took my 
place at the piano ; and with Father at the violin we 
had as good music as one could wish for dancing. 
All the girls wore their best dresses but without 
finery, and everything went off beautifully. At 
eleven we had our simple refreshments. Mother 
had cut up a sheet of mottoes and scattered them 
among the popped corn, and they made ever so 
much fun. When that was over and we were 
standing about before beginning anything else, 
Father suddenly spoke up, saying that there was 
a little matter to which he would like to call atten- 
tion ; he supposed that the masculine portion of 
his audience would hardly be thrilled, but the 
girls, he knew, would be deeply interested. Then 
he went on to say that there had been some talk 
among the young ladies of getting up a surprise 
present for their teacher, and that an album had 
been spoken of; but he said he had a scheme that 
seemed to him much better. Then he brought out 
a sheet of Bristol board, beautifully ornamented 
with scroll work, and handsomely engrossed upon 
it was a set of resolutions saying how sorry we 
were that Mr. Atherton was going to leave, how 
much we had profited by his stay with us, and 
expressing our best wishes for his future. I don't, 
of course, give all this in Father's words, but 
after he had read the testimonial, he made a capi- 
tal, witty speech. Then he called on us all to 
sign the testimonial if we approved it. He told 
us, too, that he could have the sheet nicely framed 
for three dollars, which would involve a cost of 

only twenty cents to each subscriber ; and he would 
venture to say that Mr. Atherton would be even 
better pleased with the testimonial proposed than 
with something more expensive. 

Of course it "took" immediately; all the girls 
were delighted and signed it there and then, in their 
very best handwriting, and most of them paid their 
twenty cents at once. We empowered Father 
to have it framed, and they voted that I should 
make the presentation. But the fact that Father 
had entered into it so well and done so much just 
for my pleasure touched me more than all. I knew 
that he had given a great deal of attention to orna- 
mental penmanship, but I had no idea he could 
make so handsome a scroll as that testimonial. I 
always knew, of course, that Father loved his chil- 
dren. If any of us are sick, he is as tender as a 
woman; and he daily makes all manner of sacrifices 
for us; but here he showed that he had a great deal 
of sympathy with all our hopes and plans. 

Of course, with the cake and coffee and every- 
thing, the entertainment cost more than my contri- 
bution and picture would have done, but it seems 
that Mother had been planning for some time to do 
something for me which should help me pay my 
party obligations, and that was not the only time 
when she proved that she has "the happy faculty 
of common sense," as Father says. 

I do believe my little party was more talked about 
than those of many of the other girls, though they 
cost many times as much money as did mine. 

Well, examination day came, and when I pre- 
sented the testimonial to Mr. Atherton, though 
I said only a word or two, he could hardly speak at 
all, and he told Father afterward that we could n't 
have pleased him better. It seems that he had 
heard some whispers about a present, and had a 
fear that it was going to be something expensive, and 
felt troubled about it; for, as he told Father, he 
could n't refuse a thing before it was offered him, 
and he did n't know what to do ; but the testi- 
monial he could accept with real pleasure and 

You can hardly imagine what a different position 
I have occupied in school since that affair. I was 
never really unpopular, but I was seldom appealed 
to. Now, however, I am consulted about every- 
thing, and my opinion has a great deal of weight 
with the girls. — But I know where the honor really 
belongs, and I always say it is because Father so 
well carried out Mother's idea. 





By Tudor Jenks. 

WAS just graduated from 
college, when I received 
a letter from my uncle 
Ralph, which surprised me 
very much, as I had never 
known him except by 
name. I had always been 
told by my mother that 
he was very eccentric, and 
certainly the letter was 
queer ; for it read : 

" Nephew Dick (if that 's your 
name) : 
" I want an assistant in my lab- 
oratory. I will pay you well. 
Answer at once. 

" Uncle Ralph." 

I was puzzled what to 

say in reply. I had no 

profession in view, and did 

n't like to throw away what 

might be a good chance. 

I talked it over with my 

mother, and she said she thought it would be 

worth trying and could certainly do no harm. So, 

not to be outdone in brevity, I answered : 

" Dear Uncle Ralph : 

" If terms suit, I '11 try. 

" Your nephew Dick." 

I think he was pleased with the answer, for he 
received me very cordially, though he did n't say 
much. My salary was quickly and satisfactorily 
settled, and I took a room near my uncle's house 
and began my work. 

At first I had so much to learn that I could n't 
have earned my salt ; but before very long I began 
to see my way clearly, and I really think I made 
myself useful — still I could not be sure. 

Strangely enough, I never could tell what my 
uncle was trying to accomplish. I made many 
mixtures of chemicals, prepared all sorts of appa- 
ratus, but was never allowed to see what my uncle 
was about. Whenever I had prepared any mate- 
rials, he would carry them off into a little private 
room of which he always kept the key upon 
his watch-chain. No one was allowed to enter 
this room, and I soon learned that it was wisest to 
say nothing concerning it. Not being inquisitive, 
I did not pry into the mystery, but did whatever I 
was told to do, without asking any questions. 

As time went on, I could see that my uncle was 

becoming very nervous and irritable over his work. 
Always a silent man, he now seldom spoke a 

One day he sent me to buy him some chem- 
icals, giving me a list which he had written out for 
me. Upon examining the list I found that the ar- 
ticles would make a large package, so I picked up 
my little traveling-bag and started out. 

Some of the substances required were rare, and 
I was obliged to ask at a number of places before 
I succeeded in finding them ; and it was dusk when 
I reached the house. 

I heard my uncle calling me as I came in, and 
found him very impatient. 

" Did you get them all ? " he asked, as soon as 
he saw me. 

" Yes ; after some trouble," I replied. 

" Where are they? " he inquired. 

" Here," I said, and I handed him the bag. 

He took it without a word, and immediately 
retired into his private room. 

During his absence, I busied myself in the labor- 
atory in putting everything in order. I worked 
away for a long while — how long I can not exactly 
tell — when suddenly I heard an explosion in my 
uncle's little room, followed by a cry. 

I rushed to the door and knocked. 

" What is it ? " he growled. 

"What is the matter?" I cried. 

" Nothing ! Don't be foolish ! " said my uncle. 
" Nothing can hurt me ! " 

I went back to the laboratory, and, having 
nothing further to do, sat down to wait for his 

Again came the explosion, followed by the same 

I started up and, before I thought, I cried aloud, 
" You 're not hurt, are you ? " 

The door opened suddenly, and my uncle came 
out, looking very much excited. 

"Dick!" said he, "go home. Here is your 
bag. I shan't need your help to-night." 

I took what I thought was my bag, and went 
home to my room. 

When I lighted my student-lamp I saw that, 
instead of my traveling-bag, my uncle had given 
me an old, dusty, wrinkled and battered leather 
satchel, which looked as though it might be a cent- 
ury old. 

I laughed, and tried to open it. It was locked. 
After puzzling over the lock until I was tired, I 




opened my closet door and flung the satchel upon 
the highest shelf. 

"To-morrow," said I, " I '11 exchange it for my 
own bag." 

I am afraid Uncle Ralph's treatment was be- 
ginning to affect my temper. I did n't like the 
way he had treated me that night. Then he 
had n't paid me my salary for a long time, and my 
bills were coming in faster than I could pay them. 

It is very discouraging to do other men's work, 
especially when you are not allowed to see the 
results of your labor ; and I had worked some 
months without a single hint of what I was 
about. I began to believe I had made a mistake. 
What good would it do me to work away in the 
dark, learning little or nothing, and without hope 
of doing better ? My uncle would tell me nothing, 
and was provoked by being even questioned. 

I became very much discouraged over my pros- 
pects, and wondered whether I ought not to confess 
I had made a mistake, and to begin the study of 
some regular profession. 

How long I sat thinking, I can not tell ; but I 
was aroused by the faint flicker of my fire as it 
went out, leaving me in perfect darkness. 

As I groped about my room, looking for 
matches, I heard a rustling which seemed to come 
from the other side of the room. Then came tiny 
knockings, irregularly, and muffled shouting, as 
though far away. 

By listening more intently I heard the sounds 
plainly enough to distinguish the squeaking of 
mice and — could I be mistaken ? — a scream ; very 
faint, it is true, but still a scream of fright. 

"Ah!" said I to myself, "there must be mice 
in the closet ! But what can the scream be ? " 

I went to the closet, and, opening the door, was 
amazed to see that the upper part was faintly 
lighted, as though by a big fire-fly. Puzzled at 
this, I brought a chair, and, climbing upon it, 
saw — a grand battle. Upon one end of the shelf 
was a flying host of mice. How they scurried away ! 
Some jumped to the floor; some seemed to merely 
vanish, and they were gone ! 

While smiling at their panic, what was my sur- 
prise to hear from the other end of the shelf some 
one addressing me in a piping, little voice. 

" Eh ? " I exclaimed ; ' ' did any one speak ? " 

" I had the honor ! " the voice replied. 

Turning, I saw upon the shelf a diminutive figure 
carrying a little lantern in one hand, and some- 
thing like a needle in the other. 

Before I could recover from my astonishment, and 
not before I had been asked sarcastically whether I 
should know him the next - time we met, the little 
man went on : 

" This is a pretty way to treat me, — is n't it ? " 

" What in the world — what can this mean?" I 
blundered out. 

"Well! I like that," replied the pigmy in a 
scornful tone; "asking what this can mean, after 
having kept me shut up in that old leather satchel 
for over two thousand years ! — Why, I should have 
been starved before long ; my provisions were 
almost gone, I can tell you ! Perhaps you think 


I 'm not hungry now ? Oh, no ! of course not ! — 
and you want to know what this means?" 

Here he burst out laughing so loudly that I 
plainly heard it. 

" I should be glad to do anything in my power 
to aid you," I began, wishing to do my best to 
pacify the little fellow; " but as for having kept 
you shut up for twenty centuries, why, my dear 
fellow, that 's simply absurd, for I am only twenty- 
three years old now ! " 

" Oh, see here," he answered scornfully, "that 's 
a little more than I can stand ! You 've played 
the innocent game long enough ; you can't fool 
me that way again. Why, I suppose you will 
deny that your name is Trancastro, next ? " and he 
hopped up and down in a rage. 

" Tran which ? Tran what ? " I began. 

"That's right, that's right !" cried the little imp 
in a perfect fury. " Go on — deny everything ! " 

" See here!" I cried, now out of patience with 
his whims, " I don't know anything about you 
or your Tran-what-you-may-call-him, and if you 
had n't kicked up such a racket in my closet I 




never would have come near you! — I wish I 
had n't, and then the mice would have finished 
you — and a good riddance ! " 

As I paused for breath the little man held his 
lantern as near my face as possible, and after a 
long, earnest look, said with great gravity and 
deliberation : 

" I think I must have made a mistake ! " 

Then, turning suddenly, he gave a great skip and 
shouted out, "And then — I am free ! " 

" Certainly you are, so far as I am concerned," 
I replied carelessly; "but I can't imagine what all 
this fuss is about. So long as you are pleased, I 
suppose I must be satisfied." 

Meanwhile he had continued to jump and whirl 
about, until he dropped his lantern and it went 
out, leaving us in the dark. Then he calmed down 
enough to say, "What can you know about it? 
You — only twenty-three years old ! " He chuckled 
as though this were a great joke at my expense, 
and went on, "If you will offer me a chair and 
something to eat, I '11 tell you the whole story." 

So I stepped down from the chair, lighted my 
student-lamp, and offered my little guest my hand. 
Into it he climbed, and I deposited him upon the table 
under the light, where I could see him plainly. 

He was about six inches in height and dressed 
in what seemed to be mouse-skin. He wore a little 
belt and a helmet the size of a thimble. His face 
was unwrinkled, but intelligent enough for any age. 

Seeing he was unwilling to be stared at, I broke 
the silence by saying, " I am sorry I can not offer 
you a chair — but mine are too large, I am afraid." 
I feared he might be hurt by the hint. 

" Not at all ! " he replied politely, now that 
he had convinced himself I was not that awful 
Tran-somebody, " see here ! " 

He beckoned to my favorite easy-chair. At 
once it rose gently into the air, and, dwindling 
down to a size suitable for the little wretch, dropped 
softly down upon the table beside him. 

Ignoring my exclamations, he seated himself 
comfortably within it, and, looking up at me, said, 
as though nothing had happened, " I said I would 
tell you all about it, did n't I ? " 

" Yes," I answered, leaning eagerly forward. 

" Well, I '11 not ! " said he' bluntly. 

" You '11 not ? — and why not ? " I asked. 

" Oh," said he, calmly crossing his little legs, 
" you could n't understand it." 

"Perhaps I could," I replied, smiling indul- 
gently. " Just try me." 

"Do you know what dnax is?" he asked, ap- 
parently hoping that I might. 

"No, I can't say I do — exactly," I confessed 

"Then of course you could n't understand it — 

for that's the very beginning of it ! — But no matter. 
Let 's change the subject. Is there anything I can 
do for you in return for your hospitality to a hun- 
gry guest? " 

"I beg your pardon — I quite forgot," and I 
rang the bell. 

When the servant came, I ordered supper for 
two. This strange order caused the servant to 
gape in silent astonishment. I repeated the order, 
however, and she hurried away without asking 
any questions. Returning, she placed the supper 
upon the table, without seeing the frantic retreat 
of the little man as she approached the table with 
the heavy tray. 

" What an awkward blockhead ! " exclaimed the 

'"perhaps,' said the little man, 'having lived forty 

centuries, i may be old enough to advise a young 

man of twenty-three.' " 

angry little fellow. I made no answer, being puz- 
zled over the proper way to ask my small friend to 
eat with a knife and fork larger than himself. 

But, as I hesitated, the mysterious beckoning 
process again took place, and one-half the con- 
tents of the tray diminished to a size convenient 
for his use. He ate almost greedily, like a starving 
man. I watched him in silent wonder until he 
seemed to be satisfied. 

Then, pushing back his chair, he said gratefully : 
" A very nice supper ! I should like to return 
your kindness in some way. You little know what 
a service you have done me in releasing me from 
that cruel Trancast " 

Here he broke off suddenly and remained in a 




brown study. He seemed so melancholy that I in- 
terrupted his thoughts by asking : 

" And what could you do for me ? " He bright- 
ened up again as I spoke, and answered : 

" Who can tell ? What are your troubles ? " 

" Well," said I thoughtfully, " I have n't many. 
But I should like the advice of some one older and 
wiser than I am." 

" I shall not say how wise I may be," said the 
little man soberly ; "but perhaps, having lived forty 
centuries, I may be old enough to advise a young 
man of twenty-three." 

I looked up, expecting to see him smiling, but 
he was as sober as a judge. So I told him all 
about my uncle and my work, and concluded 
by asking him what he thought I ought to do. 
He seemed intensely interested, and remained 
silent some moments after I had finished. I waited 
more anxiously for his opinion than I should have 
liked to admit. 

At length he said solemnly, " Bring your uncle 
to me ! " 

"Bring " I repeated, in amazement, "bring 

my " 

" Bring your uncle to me ! " he repeated firmly, 
and so solemnly that I never thought of resisting. 

" Oh, very well," I said hastily; "but how in 
the world am I to do it ? " 

" Easily enough ! " he explained ; "write him a 
note ! " 

" But what shall I say ? " I asked helplessly. 

" You said he was interested in chemistry ? " 
asked the strange little fellow. 

" I believe he cares for nothing else," I replied. 

" Very well. Now write this : ' I have made a 
discovery to-night such as you never dreamed of. 
Come at once ! ' That will bring him," said my 

Why I was so easily bullied by the manikin I can 
not tell ; but I wrote the note and sent it at once. 

" Now," resumed my little guest, " what else 
can I do for you ? " 

"Nothing," I replied, laughing; "unless you 
will pay my bills for me ! " 

"With pleasure," he answered gravely; "let 
me see them." 

I brought the bills, and he went over them very 

" Hm — hm — very good!" he said, when he 
had finished his examination. " You have not been 
very extravagant. I '11 reduce them for you ! " 

He began beckoning, as he had beckoned to 
the chair and the tea-tray, and I smiled, expecting 
to see the papers grow smaller and smaller. But 
when he stopped I could see no change, although 
he seated himself as though well satisfied. As 
he said nothing, I finally ventured to say : 

" Well ! " 

" Well," he replied ; " look at your bills ! " 

I picked them up and was astonished to see that 
the amounts had dwindled from dollars to cents, 
until each bill was for only a hundredth part of 
what it had been. 

" But that is nonsense ! " I said, looking up 
angrily. "I'm not a baby! What good will 
that do ? " 

" You 're only twenty-three," he said, doubt- 
fully ; and smiling as a knock was heard at the 
door, he made me a sign to open it. 

I did so, and there stood my tailor, Mr. Mewlett. 
I frowned, for I owed him more than a hundred 
dollars. But he smiled politely, saying, "Could 
you oblige me with that dollar or two you owe me ? 
I need a little change to-night." 

I stared at him in wonder; but, thinking it wise 
to ask no questions, I took his bill from the pile 
on the table and handed it to him. 

He read it aloud: "One dollar and fourteen 

I counted out the money. He receipted the bill 
and left me, seeming perfectly contented. 

I dropped into a chair, too much puzzled to say 
a word. 

Just then the door banged open wide, and in 
came my uncle, puffing and blowing with the 
exertion of climbing the stairs. 

"Well, on what fool's errand have you brought 

me here " he began; but suddenly I heard a 

shriek from the pigmy on the table. As I turned, 
he began beckoning — beckoning — beckoning, as 
if he were frantic. 

I turned to look at my uncle. 

He was gone. 

Then I turned again to the little man on the 
table — What a sight met my eyes ! 

There stood upon the table the miniature image 
of my uncle, staring with wide-open eyes at the 
little figure of my guest. 

For a moment they glared at each other — and 
then, before I could interfere, they were fighting 
for their lives. 

It was over in a second. 

My uncle was too old and feeble to be a match 
for the wiry little warrior in leather. 

As they separated, my uncle seemed to be 
wounded, for he staggered an instant, and then 
fell backward, staining the cloth like an overturned 
bottle of red ink. 

"You scoundrel!" I cried, starting forward in 
anger ; " what have you done ? " 

For a moment the little fellow had no breath 
to answer. He panted helplessly, and at length 
gasped out : 

"It is— but — justice! It is Trancastro ! " 





'' Trancastro ! " I exclaimed — "that was my 
uncle ! Explain ! — I can not understand ! " 

" Do you know what dnax is ? " he asked, as he 
wiped his sword on a napkin. 

"No!" I shouted. 

"Then you could nH understand," he said, 
mournfully shaking his head. 

Enraged by his answer, I rushed for the table ; 
but, before I could reach them, my uncle struggled 
to his feet and resumed the conflict, using his 
umbrella most valiantly. I paused a moment, 

hoping he might yet conquer — but the fight was 
too unequal. By a skillful twist of his opponent's 
wrist my. uncle's umbrella was sent flying out of 
his hand. Being disarmed, he sank upon one 
knee and begged for mercy. 

"Trancastro!" cried the victor, " you deserve 
no better fate than the cruel death you meant 
for me ! " 

"Oh, have mercy ! " cried my uncle. 

I could not stand this. The honor of the family 
forbade me to remain neutral. I rushed to the 
table, crying, " Here ! here ! — this has gone quite 
far enough ! " 

Again the beckoning ! I became in a moment 
a third pigmy upon my own table ! 

"Now," exclaimed the triumphant warrior, "we 
are upon equal terms ! Come on ! " 

I had no weapon. I dared not interfere. While 
I stood hesitating, the little tyrant made a slip- 
knot from one of my curtain-cords, threw the noose 
over my uncle's neck, and rose into the air, dragging 
his victim after him. I heard a breaking of glass, 
and, regaining my natural size in a moment, rushed 
to the window only to see them flying away ! 

All that remained to convince me that I could 
not be mistaken was the stain upon the cloth, the 
little arm-chair, and the miniature supper. I 
searched the room, but found nothing. 

Until now I have never told the story — for who 
would have believed it? But any one who believes 
my story, and would like to see what remains of 
Trancastro and his victim, has only to open the 
battered little satchel, and there can still be seen 
the little chair, the little knife and fork, and all the 
relics left by my guest. No unbeliever shall ever 
see them. 





By Henry Eckford. 

Fourth Paper. 

You would hardly believe it possible that there 
are so many alphabets in the world which seem 
to have nothing to do with one another — neither 
coming one from another by borrowing, nor de- 
scending, apparently, from the same alphabet 
thousands of years ago. The numbers of exist- 
ing nations and of men to-day are as nothing com- 
pared with those that have perished. So the 
number of existing alphabets and syllabaries are 
but as a handful compared to those that have 
passed away and left no trace whatever. Writings 
on paper and bark can remain only as long as the 
paper and bark hold together ; even in Egypt, 
where, owing to the dryness of the climate, paper 
lasts longer than elsewhere, it can last only a 
few thousand years. Nations that once for long 
periods possessed writings are now completely 
unknown, and with them their alphabets also 
have perished, because no record of their exist- 
ence was left on rock, brick, or pottery. What 
looks, therefore, like an abundance of material by 
which to read the life of alphabets is really very 
little compared to what we ought to have. 

You remember how nations like the Phoenicians, 
when adopting a new series of letters, name these 
letters according to their own fancy, just as we 
sometimes teach children their alphabet by saying, 
"A was an Archer " (or we may prefer to have 
A stand for an Apple, or some other word be- 
ginning with A); and "B was a Butcher," or 
"a Bear," or some other word beginning with B. 
There is no doubt that both the Romans and the 
Greeks had lists of words useful to remind children 
of their letters. Now, our alphabet came directly 
to us from the Irish missionaries and professors of 
religion and wisdom, who taught Christianity to 
the heathen Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Goths, Ger- 
mans, Danes, and Swedes, several centuries after 
the death of our Lord. They did not learn from 
the Phoenicians, although they have traditions that 
seem to point to settlers in Ireland bearing a sim- 
ilar name. Instead of using the Latin names for 
the letters taken from the Christian Romans, they 
gave them names of their own. Their wise and 
pious men had been members of, or were the 
pupils of, a class of learned heathens called the 
Druids. In ancient Ireland, a drit'i was prophet, 
priest, doctor, and magician, and the name seems 
to be connected with our word tree. It was against 

the rule of the Druids to write things down. They 
were in the habit of retiring to the deepest woods 
for meditation and study, sometimes attended by 
pupils. That is probably the reason why the Irish, 
among whom the Druids retained their power the 
longest, — because Ireland was the hardest to reach 
of all the great islands thereabouts, and the last 
to feel the changes taking place elsewhere in 
Europe, — chose this pretty system of naming the 
letters of the Latin alphabet when it became com- 
mon. Instead of calling A, alpha, as the Latins 
usually did, they said A, ailm, the word which 
stood in their language for palm-tree and came, 
in sound, nearest to alpha, and began with an 

A. Instead of beta they said beith, the word for 
birch-tree, almost the same in sound as the Phoe- 
nician, but quite different in meaning. And so with 
the other letters : Coll, hazel ; duir, oak ; eadha, 
aspen ; fearan, alder ; gort, ivy ; huath, white- 
thorn ; iogha, yew ; litis, mountain-ash ; mnin, 
vine ; nuin, ash ; oir, broom ; pcith, dwarf-elder ; 
suil, willow ; teine, furze ; ur, heath. They called 
this alphabet bethluisnion, choosing out the letters 

B, L, and N, instead of the letters A and B, to 
form a name. Another term, more nearly like the 
word alphabet, was aibcitie, or A-B-C order, the 
syllable tie meaning order, or sequence. Living 
in wooden houses, in lands mostly covered with 
trees, the people of Ireland were specially fond 
of plants, and so named their letters from plants 
alone. Such a method may possibly point to an 
early syllabic system among these races, founded 
on pictures of trees and plants, on leaves, on hunt- 
ing-tools, and things connected with woodcraft; 
but at present we can only make this guess. It is 
very unlikely that so early and rude a writing 
would be placed on stone or metal, and so come 
down to us. The Egyptians used trees or plants 
but seldom, either in their symbolic or alphabetic 
hieroglyphics. Our S alone, of the letters, comes 
from a little picture of growing plants, which 
is supposed to represent a garden overflowed by 
the Nile. Egypt was peculiarly wanting in forests. 
Population was dense and animals abounded. 
On the other hand, a partiality for trees is found 
in all the Celtic tribes. The intense love of 
nature shown in the modern literature of Ger- 
many, France, and Italy, of Great Britain and the 
United States, may be traced to the Highland 
Scotch, and from this may be derived the still 
more modern passion for pictures of landscape. 




n , -, , Small 

Capitals. kttcrs ^ 

x. a 
b b 
C c 





5 5 

h h 

I J 

I i 


O o 

p P 
















The clans of Scot- 
land, blood rela- 
tions and descend- 
ants of the Irish, 
chose for emblems, 
or "badges," either 
a plant or its flower. 
Thus, the MacKays 
chose the bulrush. 
The general badge 
for Irishmen, as you 
know, is a little 
plant like the sor- 
rel, called the sham- 
rock ; while that for 
Scotland is, appro- 
priately enough, 
the hardy, prickly, 
but not unbeautiful 
thistle. The Eng- 
lish, too, show 
traces of the same 
idea ; their race- 
badge is the rose, 
a foreign plant, 
perhaps because 
they were more 
thoroughly subju- 
gated by the Nor- 
mans than were the 
Scotch and Irish ; 
perhaps because 
their land is like a 
rose-garden for cul- 
tivation. Now, 
some Irishmen have 
claimed that the 
Phoenicians made 
settlements in Ire- 
land many centu- 
ries before Christ. 
If they ever taught 
their alphabet to 
the tribes of that 
island, it has been 
crowded out by oth- 
ers, or has fallen 
into disuse. Some 
kind of writing had 
existed before the 
Christians introduced the bethluisnion J there is 
hardly a doubt that altered Greek letters, known 
as Runes, were used in Ireland ; but with the 
exception of the mysterious Oghans, which will be 
noticed further on, none are to be found ; for, just 
as nations have been struggling with nations from 
the earliest period to which we can look back, and 

Muin. : m 

Nuin. n 








U u 

forms of government with other forms, and lan- 
guages with languages, so systems of writing have 
been struggling with systems of writing. Sooner 
or later the best, that is to say, the most convenient, 
alphabet wins the day. Within a few centuries, 
the rounded and perfected form of the Christian 
alphabet has taken the place of the old Irish 
alphabet, which was itself an earlier form of the 
very same Christian letters, i 

You have traced your letters back through the 
Irish missionaries to the Christians of Rome ; but 
how did they come to Rome ? You must know that 
among the great and renowned cities founded by 
the Phoenicians in Greece was Chalkis, a town in 
the island of Eubcea. This island is close to the 
mainland of Greece, and its inhabitants are called 
Boeotians. Now the Athenians, who considered 
themselves very smart people, used to make all 
manner of fun about the stupidity of the Boeotians. 
But just why the Boeotians were thought very 
stupid folk, unless through jealousy or rivalry, I 
do not see, for one of the greatest poets of the 
world, called Pindar, was a Boeotian, and many 
famous generals, artists, architects, painters, and 
writers came from the ranks of this so-called 
stupid folk. And for all the fun they liked to make 
of these island people, the rest of Greece, includ- 
ing Athens, very likely had to come to the Boeo- 
tians for the alphabet. But you are not to sup- 
pose that the Phoenicians came to Eubcea in the 
flourishing days of Athens, when the marvelous 
sculptors lived. It was long before. And the 
Latins of Italy, in their turn, took their letters 
from the Greek-Phcenicians of Chalkis long, long 
before Rome became a famous town. And it was 
because of great wars and the attacks of Asiatic 
nations that the people who had the best alphabet 
came to Europe at all. 

The Phoenicians were driven out of Asia Minor 
by the armies of other nations, which, under dif- 
ferent names, are mentioned in the Bible, and per- 
haps among these were the Jews, in whose language 
the Bible has come down to us. It is more than 
probable that the ambition of great nations still 
farther to the eastward, drove the nearer nations 
of Syria upon the Phoenicians, who held the sea- 
coast. But there was another inducement. The 
Phoenicians became very rich from their trading 
voyages ; and also, I fear, from their plundering 
and kidnapping of slaves, for the Mediterranean 
was the haunt of buccaneers until the Romans 
frightened pirates into some kind of peaceableness. 
Even in this century it was necessary for the United 
States to send a fleet against the pirates that sailed 
from ports in Northern Africa. The riches of the 
Phoenician towns must have tempted the neighbor- 
ing tribes to attack them. At any rate, having al- 

i £86.' 



ready made many settlements elsewhere, the Phoe- 
nicians began to give way more than a thousand 
years B. C, and to take refuge in their old or new 
colonies. Some old Greek traditions tell how Kad- 
mus, a mighty leader and a very wise man in all the 
arts and sciences, came over from Asia and taught 
the Boeotians letters. In Phoenician the word Kad- 
mus means the East-man, while the word Europe, 
which gradually was applied to a vast extent of land, 
a continent, at first belonged only to the land just 
across from the island of Eubcea, on the other side 
of the narrow strait called Euripus, and means, 
in Phoenician, the West-land. So when you read 
of Kadmus coming to Europe it is the East- 
man coming to the Westland. Over and over 
again in history we find names to which all 
sorts of fanciful derivations have been given, and 
beautiful legends and myths have been attached, 
turning out to be the simplest kind of words. Thus, 
Ireland also means the Westland, and it comes 
from the Celtic word iar and our word land : iar 
meaning the West. Iar, before being used to 
denote the West, meant the back, and that fact lets 
us into an important secret concerning the religion 
of the Celts who first came over the Irish sea to 
the Emerald Island. It tells us that those early 
men named the points of the compass according 
to the other directions when the observer faced 
toward the East. So the East was named from 
front, or forward, the West from back or behind, 
the North from left hand, and the South from 
right hand. That means that the early Celts 
worshiped the Dawn and the Sunrise. And so 
faithfully have the old traditions remained in men's 
minds in that big western island of the British 
Empire that, to this day, the emblem on the coat 
of arms of Ireland is a sunburst, or rising sun. 

Another curious thing is that it is more than 
probable that the Irish preference of the color 
green, for their flag and their sashes, arose from 
a mistake among those who had lost a thorough 
knowledge of the old Irish language. The sun, in 
Irish, is called by a word pronounced like our word 
"green"; and it is likely that the Irish fondness 
for that color arose from the word's exact likeness 
in sound to their word for the sun. In the same 

way, when we talk about greenhouses, we think 
they are called so because the plants are kept green 
in them during winter. Yet it is far more probable 
that " green," here, is the Irish word meaning, not 
the color, but the sun ; because greenhouses are 
built so as to catch the sun's rays and store them 
up while it is hidden by clouds, as happens more 
than half the time in showery Ireland. 

But to return to Kadmus, the man, or the repre- 
sentation of the men, who to the ancient Greeks 
seemed to come out of the East. There was in 
Greece an ancient people whom men called the 
Pelasgi, or sea-people, because they seemed to live 
on the sea, so easy and so much at home were they 
on board their long black ships. Moreover, 
" sea-people " was a ready enough name for those 
who dwelt so much on islands. This Pelasgian 
folk at one time conquered the half of Egypt with 
their fleets, and with the aid of other nations. Now, 
when in the course of centuries, the Greeks had 
learned a great many things besides masonry and 
seacraft from the Pelasgians, and letters and sea- 
manship from the Phoenicians, — they too, like the 
Syrian nations, began to push the people who 
had been their teachers out of their islands 
and towns. Doubtless the Phoenicians were very 
arrogant and imperious people, who fancied that 
their riches made them the superiors of all poorer 
folk, and that justice only existed for the rich. 
By that time they had made many flourishing 
settlements in Italy, Spain, and Northern Africa, 
and they became famous for the last time in their 
towns of Northern Africa, where they left numer- 
ous different alphabets. Finally the Romans, 
jealous of their commerce and wealth, managed 
to ruin their navies, defeat their armies, and sack 
and destroy their cities, among which the greatest 
was Carthage, meaning, in Phoenician, New Town. 
Some day, if you have not yet studied it, you can 
learn in Roman history all about the Roman de- 
struction of Carthage and the time of the Punic 
wars. When those wars occurred, the Carthagin- 
ians were making a last effort to remain masters 
of the western parts of what are now called Europe 
and Africa, then- the most western portion of the 
civilized world. 






By C. F. H. 

" PAY his fare in, please, Mister ! " 

The speaker was a ragged little urchin, with a 
bright, jolly face, who stood at the entrance of a 
base-ball ground. By his side sat a great black 
poodle. The dog looked up at me with such a 
solemn and woe-begone expression that I laughed 
outright, whereupon the boy took courage and re- 
peated his request: "Pass him in, Mister; it 's 
only a dime. We 're under age." 

" Do you mean the dog? " I asked. 

" Yes," was the reply. " He 's a base-baller. 
He has n't missed a game this season ; and," the 
boy continued earnestly, " I would n't have him 
miss one, either. But, you see, Mother's rent 's 
due to-day, so we 've no extra cash, — have we, 
Major ? " And the big poodle wagged its tail 
and showed its teeth in a broad dog-laugh. 

It certainly was the most remarkable-looking 
poodle I had ever seen. It was a pure black, with 
the back part of its body shaved to the skin except 
where, on the top, the hair had been left in the 
shape of an anchor. A tuft only was left at the 
end of the tail ; the feet had bracelets or anklets 
of hair, and as the dog's head and chest were not 
clipped it looked like a lion from the front ; but 
from the side it was the most comical-looking 
object you can possibly imagine, while in looking 
down upon it, the symbol of hope was always pre- 
sented ; and this anchor, as I learned afterward, 
was emblematical of the Major'schief characteristic. 

"What 're the chances, Mister?" asked his owner, 
after I had examined the dog for a few moments. 

" I think they are good," I replied. " But why 
do you wish him to go in ? Does he belong to 
either nine? " 

" No, he does n't," responded my new acquaint- 
ance ; "but," confidentially, "he 's left-field in 
the ' Lincolns,' and if you knew how badly he 'd 
feel to miss this game, you 'd pass him in." 

" Can he play ? " I inquired in an incredulous 

"Can he play?" the youngster retorted indig- 
nantly, adding, " Can you, Major? " as he turned 
to the dog. The animal showed all its teeth, and 
cast up its solemn eyes, saying " yes," as plainly 
as possible. 

" You just come with me a minute, Mister," con- 
tinued the small speaker; and leading me around 

the corner, away from the crowd, he drew a well- 
worn base-ball from a dilapidated pocket, and 
tossed it to me. " He does best at a fly-catch," 
he remarked; "and when I say he 's left-field of 
our nine, it 's as much as to say he is n't a muffer." 

Curious to see what the dog would do, I tossed 
the ball at him, and it landed fair in his capacious 
mouth, and was held there. 

" That 's not what he wants, Mister," said 
Major's young master. "Throw it up high, — 
just as high as you can." 

I drew back my arm and looked up ; and on the 
instant Major had become like another dog. His 
ears stood up, his eyes flashed, and the hairy em- 
blem of hope seemed to wriggle like a snake as he 
danced backward, barking in loud, jubilant tones. 
This time I threw the ball as high as I could. Up 
it went, so high, in fact, that I doubt if I could 
have caught it myself, as it is some years since I 
severed my connection with a base-ball nine. But 
the moment it left my hand, Major seemed to 
know where it was going to fall ; he watched it 
for a second, then ran back about twenty feet, and 
as it turned in the air, he was directly under it. 

Down it came, right over the dog, which stood 
with legs braced apart, and tail wagging slowly; 
then a red mouth opened, a row of white teeth 

glistened and Major had caught the ball ! A 

few seconds later he delivered it to me, with a wag 
of his tail that said plainly, "You're out, Mister." 

So good a player certainly deserved to see the 
game, and we were soon within the high fence. At 
once Major took up his stand behind the scorer, 
and watched the game with the greatest gravity, 
occasionally, when a heavy strike was made, run- 
ning out, as if to see who caught it, and uttering a 
single bark of satisfaction. Everybody seemed to 
know him, and had a friendly pat or word for him; 
in fact, it was evident that the dog was one of the 
base- ball fraternity. 

When the game broke up, Major's master 
invited me to be present at a match-game of 
the " Lincolns," on the ensuing Saturday. The 
rival nines were made up of boys under thirteen, 
black and white, and Major. As I reached the 
ground, it was his inning, and his master, who 
claimed the privilege of striking for him, was at 
the bat. The dog was right behind with one paw 
in advance, and his eyes on the striker. In came 
the twisters, and Major made several false starts ; 
but, finally, as the ball went scudding from the 
bat, off he rushed for first base, his ears flapping, 
his plumelike tail out straight behind. But the 



62- ' 

short-stop was too nimble for the dog, and just 
before he reached the base, the ball arrived there, 
and he came slowly back, his tail hanging low, 
and a very mournful expression in his great eyes. 

" Maje 's out, — side out! " cried the boys, and 
immediately conceiving a method by which he 
could retrieve this disaster, the dog seemed to 
regain his spirits, dashed into the field, and was 

jectile seemed to fit; then, with tail wagging, he 
would hasten to carry the ball to the next player. 
He was equally proficient with low balls, either 
catching them in his mouth or stopping them with 
his broad chest, and in fielding he could not be out- 
done. When he caught a ball, he carried it at full 
speed to the nearest thrower, and not a few players 
were put out by his quick motions and activity. 

speedily in his position as left-fielder, before any 
of the others had reached their places. 

In the preliminary " pass around " that preceded 
the play, Major was not left out, and I saw that the 
balls that were thrown at him directly were quite 
as swift as those delivered from base to base ; and 
in justice to him, I never saw him "muff." When a 
ball was thrown at him, he settled back, and 
dropped his great lower jaw, into which the pro- 

VOL. XIII.— 40. 

But perhaps the strangest part of it all was 
the delight and pleasure that Major took in 
the game. He showed it in every motion, 
speaking with his tail as well as his eyes and 
mouth, and I doubt if any of the boys had a 
greater interest in the sport. 

Major's accomplishments were not confined 
to base-ball playing. He could perform nu- 
merous tricks, and understood, or pretended 
to understand, everything that was said; and 
if the gentleman in London who is so indus- 
triously endeavoring to teach dogs to talk, 
could only borrow Major, he might achieve 

Major would take a ten-cent piece to the baker, 
and bring home a loaf of bread, and no such tricks 
as giving him the wrong change or a bogus loaf 
could be successfully played upon him by the neigh- 
bors. I was told that one day when given a counter- 
feit quarter. Major gravely bit it, smiled a contemp- 
tuous smile, and wagged his head in disapproval; 
but this I will not vouch for. He did so many 




wonderful things, however, that one would hardly 
be surprised at any feat attributed to him. 

" How came you to clip him in such a fashion ?" 
I asked of his master. 

"Because he 's so hopeful," answered my new 
acquaintance. '■ When we first came to town we 
were very, very poor. We 're not so very rich now," 
he added, confidentially; "but in those times 
we had only a dollar or two at a time, for all of us, 
and Mother used to sit and cry, and you 'd have 
thought there was n't any hope for us. But Major 
was never discouraged. Whenever Mother began 
to cry, he 'd walk up to her, and laugh, and show 
his teeth, and then she 'd almost always look up 
and put her arms around his neck and say, ' Maje, 
you r'e tryin' to cheer us up : you 're doing your 
best; I know you are;" and it seemed to make 
us all hopeful-like. And he had n't anything to 
be cheerful for, either. One day we were at our 
worst ; there was n't anything in the house ; and 
cold! You would n't believe how cold it was, 
Mister ! Maje had run out, and Mother was in the 
big chair, and I was ready to cry, because she looked 
so solemn ; when there came a scratchin'at the door 
— and what d 'ye s'pose? I pulled it open, and 
there was Maje with a basket in his mouth and a 
bundle tied on his back, and I never saw him more 
cheerful and hopeful in my life. Well. Mother 
broke out cryin', just at the time she ought to ha' 
been laughin', and she put her arms 'round Maje's 
neck. There was meat and cake and ever so much 
more in the basket, and it kept us from starvin'. 

"Where did he get them ? Why, that 's the cur'- 
ous part of it. We never could find it out from Maje; 
but there was a paper in the basket sayin' : ' From a 
Friend.' But how Maje came to be acquainted with 
him just at that time, I don't see — do you, Mister ?" 

It often happens that dogs of no special breed, 
poor outcasts of the canine family, show the most 
remarkable characteristics. 

A fire company in New York had for years a 
dog that was as faithful in its duties as any of the 
men, and on several occasions it called the attention 
of patrolmen to places where fires were smoldering. 
A certain drayman in the same city had a dog that 
spent its time upon the horse's back, and seemed 
to delight in exhibiting its equestrian skill. I have 
often seen the dray going down Broadway, the dog 
on the horse's back but keeping his place with diffi- 
culty when the horse moved rapidly. 


By C. f. h. 

A friend of mine who lived in the Sierra Madre 
Mountains had a collie that was an inveterate tree- 

SgaS f ' 

climber, and woe to the squirrel that climbed up 
a trunk that Jack could scale. Of course straight 
trees were out of the question ; but one that 
grew at an angle of forty-five degrees, and had 
a rough bark, was quickly mounted by the collie. 
This curious habit was the result of his passion 
for squirrel-hunting, and the moment one of those 
little animals would dart up a favorable tree, Jack 
was after it, scrambling up so high that he was 
often found by his master thirty or forty feet from 
the ground, barking fiercely at the squirrel, which 
had sought refuge on a limb beyond the reach of 
the dog. In returning, Jack would settle close to 
the tree-trunk, and back down, inch by inch, exer- 
cising great precaution, well knowing that with his 
short claws he was at a disadvantage. When within 
a few feet of the bottom he would slide and scram- 
ble to the ground. 


By E. P. Roe. 

I ONCE knew a dog. and he had earned his 
good name honestly. He was so genuine a sea- 
dog that he li2d been named Surf, and there was 
not a better sailor on the Maine island where he 
lived. Surf knew nearly all the islanders, and they 
knew him. Whenever he met any of them, he 




wagged his tail genially. It was his mode of say- 
ing good morning, or how-d'ye-do ; and the peo- 
ple would always return his friendly greeting. 
There 's an old saying, that " It 's better to have 
the good-will than the ill-will of a dog." There 
were a few boys whom Surf snarled at, and you may 
rest assured that they were very 
rough, mean boys. The best young 
fellows thought Surf a fine com- 
rade, with whom they could enjoy 
a romp almost as well as if he were 
a schoolmate. If his master or any 
of the family were going out in a 
boat, Surf was the first on board ; 
and taking his place in the extreme 
bow, he saluted every one within 
hailing distance. No matter how 
hard it blew, or how blinding the 
spray, he maintained his place, 
vigilant and fearless. Thus he 
came to be the best-known and 
most popular dog on the island. 
Everybody had a smile for him ; 
everybody had a good word for 
him. Many boys who go to school 
and can read and write are not so 
true and kind as was Surf. 

So abounding in good nature 
was Surf that he made friends 
even of the people who passed 
by the island, and many passed 
every day. The channel followed 
by steamers was not far distant 
from the point on which his master, 
Mr. Andrews, lived. When a boat 
was nearly opposite this point 
Surf went down to the water's edge and barked, 
not in a spiteful, malicious way, but in cheery tones, 
as if calling out " How are you, old fellow! The 
spirit in which anything is done is soon known, 
and the pilots of the steamboats began to answer 
his barking with the steam whistle. At this, Surf 
would wag his tail as if the proper courtesies had 
been exchanged, and return quietly to the house. 
So it came about that captains and crews and not 
a few of the passengers expected a salutation from 
Surf, whenever the boat neared the point. 

Surf was not spoiled, however, by his popular- 
ity. He put on no airs whatever, and was just as 
ready to play with little Bob Andrews, and follow 
him about, as he was to " pass the time of day," 
after his fashion, with the captain of a steamer, or 
the richest man on the island. Bob was a reckless 
little mortal, and Surf appeared to have the im- 
pression that the boy needed looking after. Like 
many people who live by the sea, the Andrews fam- 
ily had the feeling that they could never be drowned, 

and no one was more venturesome than Bob in 
clambering over the rocks about the ocean's edge. 
One day. however, he ventured too far and too 
carelessly, for he fell with a splash into deep 
water. The little fellow could not swim, and his 
bubbling cry for help could scarcely have been 




heard on the rock from which he fell, so loud 
was the noise of the dashing waves. Surf's tail 
became rigid with the stress of the emergency; 
then over the rock he went after his playmate. 
Seizing the boy by the coat-collar, he swam around 
the rock to a gravelly beach, and soon had him 
high, but not dry, on the shore. Indeed, the little 
fellow had taken so much water inside as well as 
out that he lay helpless and insensible, though 
beyond the breaking waves. 

For a moment. Surf was puzzled. He knew his 
task was not finished ; but what should he do next ? 
A bright thought struck him. The day was windy, 
and the boy had pulled his little cap down over 
his ears so tightly that the waves had not washed 
it off. But Surf pulled it off with his teeth and ran 
at full speed with it to the house. The family was 
just gathering around the dinner-table when the 
great, wet dog bounded in and laid the well known 
cap on Mr. Andrews' chair. 

" Merciful Heaven ! " cried the father, seizing 




the cap and rushing out, followed by his wife and 
all the family. 

Surf led the way, whining in a low tone, to 
where Bob lay, pale indeed, but already showing 
signs of life. Fortunately, Mr. Andrews was an 
intelligent man and knew just what to do. And 
so, within an hour. Bob was in his high chair at 
the table with the rest. But he shared his dinner, 
that day, with the brave dog that had saved his 

Surf entered so heartily into the family rejoicing, 
and was so elated at the praise he received, that 
there seemed to be some danger that he would 
wag his tail off before the day ended. 

Yet, even after this heroic act, Surf never so 
much as hinted by his manner, " See what a 
good dog I am ! " 



By E. P. Roe. 

Carlo felt himself to be one of the family. 
From his puppyhood days, he had been treated 
with great kindness and allowed to come into the 
house under certain restrictions. He also had ac- 
corded to the different members of the household 
various marks of his favor, according to his 
estimate of their deserts ; but for his mistress and 
her sister he had unbounded affection. When- 
ever they walked abroad, he was their self-ap- 
pointed guardian, and never had ladies a more 
attentive and gallant escort. Not only did he 
respond gratefully to any favor or notice that 
he received, but he was also ready to prove him- 
self no carpet-knight should danger threaten the 

Now Carlo felt that he was. not a mere watch or 
churning dog — an animal kept for a purpose. By 
ties of long association and deep affection, he was 
one of the family. That he had his three meals 
daily did not suffice ; he observed all that was 
going on, and noted any change that occurred. 
The absence of his mistress and her sister quite 
depressed his spirits, and when they returned his 
joy was great indeed. 

They had been away, and they returned one 
summer evening. As they were greeting the mem- 
bers of the household, Carlo heard their voices, and 
came bounding in, intent on the most frisky, 
hearty and demonstrative of welcomes. At that 
critical moment, however, a flea on his back gave 
him a most venomous, distracting bite, and, half 
frantic from pain, Carlo turned his head so sud- 

denly to return the bite, that he tumbled down 
on his nose and rolled over, cutting so awkward 
and ridiculous a figure that every one burst out 

Carlo rose, and having given his mistress a look 
of reproach, walked with great dignity out of the 
room. And many were the apologies that had to be 
made before his wounded feelings were soothed and 
the old cordial relations resumed. 


A gentleman in Bristol, England, owned a dog 
remarkable both for intelligence and devotion. 
The dog had been taught to run errands. It 
was a part of his daily duty to go to the meat- 
market, carrying a basket in which was the money 
to pay for the meat. One day his master thought 
he would put a new test to the dog's faithfulness 
and intelligence. He ordered the man who kept 
the market to take the money as usual, but to refuse 
the meat and order the dog to go home without it. 
This the market-man did, and the poor dog 
returned to the house dejected, melancholy, slow, 
with ears and tail hanging, and with the basket 
empty. Seeing his master, he seemed to try to 
put on an air of cheerfulness, evidently hoping 
that the situation would be understood. But, no ; 
the master frowned upon him, scolded him harshly, 
and bade him go out of his sight. This was 
almost more than the poor fellow could bear, and 
sneaking out he crept under a table in an outer 
shed, where he lay for two days to all appearances 
in a state of gloomy despair. On the third day, his 
master called him out, speaking kindly to him 
again, and the dog was wild with joy. Again his 
master sent him to the market with the money in 
his basket. The dog went in, but this time he 
placed the money on the floor and put his paw 
on it, before he allowed the market- man to 
take the basket. When the man gave him the 
meat, the dog quickly whisked the money back 
into the basket and trotted off home with both 
meat and money, giving them to his master with 
an air of decided triumph. 


By Anna Gardner. 

In that beautiful suburb of Philadelphia known 
as German town, lived a beautiful little gray Skye 
terrier with a very long name, — Mephistopheles. 
He was called Meph, for short ; and a remarkably 
intelligent dog he was. 

1 886.] 



At one time Meph's master, who is a well known 
physician of Germantown, was ill. In the mid- 
dle of the night, the dog bounded to the side 
of the bed, and laying its paw upon the arm of its 
master endeavored to awaken him. Having suc- 
ceeded, it tried in various ways to attract his atten- 
tion to the opposite side of the room ; repeatedly 
leaving the bed and returning. 

Unwilling to be disturbed, the invalid remained 
some time without noticing his little pet. But the 
animal became so importunate that the doctor 
could no longer remain impassive. He arose, and, 
following the dog to the bay-window on the other 
side of the room, he found, to his astonishment, 

that a goldfish had leaped out of the aquarium, 
and was panting almost lifeless on the carpet. 

Meph evinced much joy when his master restored 
the fish to its watery home ; and the doctor fondly 
caressed Meph, who quietly returned to his cushion 
bed, seeming perfectly satisfied with having per- 
formed his mission and saved the life of the fish. 

He must have evolved the idea that all was not 
right — that the fish was " out of its sphere." 

This dog met an untimely death through the 
cruelty of a man, who, on account of some trivial 
annoyance, put an end to poor Meph's career. 
The man might have learned a lesson of kindness 
from the little creature he wantonly murdered. 


By M. A. L. 

'POTHECARY, 'pothecary, 
living in the rose, 

Tell us how to make the 
scent that everybody 

" A penny's worth of nectar ; 
a dozen drops of dew ; 

A little compound sunshine 
that's slowly filtered 
through ; 

A sun-glass made of dia- 
mond, and then — the 
mixing done — 

Set out a little flask of it 
to simmer in the sun." 

'Pothecary, 'pothecary, is 

there nothing more? 
"Yes, it taketh industry to 

make the summer's 

So, my lad and lady, run 

off now and play ; — 
This, like every day in 

June, is my busy day." 





Who knows what a riddle is ? A riddle is something- to be guessed. 
Well, here is a riddle in a picture, all about pretty painted bridges. 

Who can guess it ? The bridges are not real bridges, and they are not 
really painted, — yet every summer we see them. Now, what kind of 
bridges are they ? Nobody over seven years of age need try to guess these 

Now you shall have another riddle,— this time about sheep, but they 
are not the real sheep shown in the picture. On almost any sunny day you 
can see the kind of sheep that this riddle means. Many of these riddle 
sheep are white as snow, and they keep moving, moving, when the wind 
blows. Did you ever see them ? Perhaps if you look out of your window 
now you may see some of the same sort. But it must be at noon time, or 
in the morning when the sky is blue, or when you wake up in the night 
and see the moon softly stealing in and out among them. Do not look 
for them when it is time for little folk to sav "good-night!" Then these 



iff-* him 


pSffiVrfs sHe&afs, white sHeeb 
! ben the wind sfbb^> 
h&nAmo, wind bio 

eeb, w-hlfejiibee 


sheep sometimes change into bright red and yellow banners stretching 
across the sky and floating over the place where the sun is going to sleep. 

And now comes the very last riddle, — about Dormio Hill. What can 
the white ground of Dormio Hill be? It is in the land of Nod, and if you 
wish to find it, I do believe the Sand-man can take you to the very spot. 

And who is the Sand-man ? Ah, that is another riddle which Mamma 
can answer for you. 

r?e ground 15 white 


polflormio fflu m5.mm6.vm 60 Iffc 


Ind carry \ut b<\by wl?e\!?er©mr?o 









K x - 


We will open the meeting this month, my 
hearers, with "A Bumble Grumble" sent to you 
by my friend Harold \V. Raymond. 

A bumble-bee sat on the wild-rose tree, 

And grumbled because he was big and fat; 
" Just look at yon butterfly light," quoth he, 
" 1 wish I were airv and graceful like that ! 

ho ! 

1 know 

'T is hard to be heavy, and huge, and slow ! " 

A mischievous boy the butterfly caught. 

And in his rough grasp it fluttered and died. 
Sir Bumble his dagger drew out, and thought 
That his end had come ; but he boldly cried: 
" Come on ! 
My son ; 
This stinger and I weigh nearly a ton." 

" You'll have to excuse me, sir," said the lad, 
" I know the weight of your little barbed spear. 
Were your logic less pungent I 'd be most glad 
To meet you in conflict and vanquish you here. 
Good-day ! 
I '11 say; 
For I fear 't would unhealthy prove to stay." 

The bumble-bee laughed a stitch in his side 

When he saw the youngster in full retreat ; 
Then he stretched himself in a new-born pride 
And threw out his chest with martial conceit. 
" Dear me ! " 

Said the bee, 
" 'T is easy to see 
An ounce of sting 
Is better than yards of butterfly-wing." 

And now you shall have a story that is n't in 
verse, though there 's poetry in it. " Turn about is 
fair play," and this will interest you in the butter- 


Dear Jack : Please let me tell you this true story : 

Dusty Wings is the name of a charming little pel of mine ; and he 
is so curious a thing to have for a pet, that if it were not for his 
name, I don't believe you could ever guess what he is. 

One day in the early part of November, as I sat by the window, I 
noticed lying on the piazza a beautiful butterfly, with his gorgeous 
wings outspread. He was apparently stunned by the cold, as he did 
not attempt to fly away when I went to pick him up. I brought 
him into the warm room, when he soon became very lively. 

His body is dark brown, covered with fine hairs, which look like 
feathers when put under a magnifying glass. The wings show all 
the colors of the rainbow, arranged in the most artistic manner. The 
wings themselves are transparent, like those of a fly, and the color 
is given to them by fine scales, which come off very easily. The 
antentus which grow from each side of the head are black and white. 

Although you all have probably seen many butterflies as beautiful 
as my pet. I don't believe you ever watched one eat, and that is a very 
interesting process. Dusty Wings alights on my finger and clings to 
it as if he really loved me. I then put a drop of sugar in front of him. 
Immediately a long trunk (it is hollow, like an elephant's) unwinds 
and feels about until it finds the liquid, which gradually disappears ; 
and then Mr. Dusty Wings slowly coils his trunk around and stows 
it away in a vertical opening in the center of his head. The trunk 
is so delicate that when it is coiled up, it looks like a fine watch- 
spring. If he has not had enough, he lets me know by waving this 
trunk in the air. The first time I fed him, he seemed shy and only 
ate very little; now he is not at all afraid. 

I made him a house with plenty of air-holes, and there he stays 
most of the time on a warm comer of the mantel. 1 do not like to 
let him out very often to fly about, as I am afraid he might be 
stepped on. If I wear a flower he will crawl up my dress until he 
comes to it, and there he will stay, showing that he has not forgotten 
his old life. Yours sincerely, Ada C Ashfield. 


Memphis, Tenn.. January 10, 1886. 

Dear Jack : I thought some of your readers might be able to 
answer my question. 

There had been no rain here for about three weeks : it was in the 
fall, and our school went to see a tree that had been raining for two 
or three days ; this tree was a sycamore. I saw two more trees that 
rained. One was a box-elder, and the other an elm. The elm was 
in the woods. The drops tasted like water, and dried up as quickly. 

Can any one explain this to me ? 

Your constant leader. Julia S. 

All look out. my friends, for raining trees, and 
report the results cf your observations. I Ye seen 
no such instance in my meadow as the one Julia 
describes. But you all may go searching the groves 
and the books, and see what you can discover. 


New York, March i, 1886. 
Dear Jack. : I frequently have read of shooting 
stars, but never of anything like this that I 
saw. About four summers ago, I was staying at 
a village on Long Island. One evening as I was 
about to go into the house, I glanced up at the 
heavens. Myriads of stars were shining brightly, 
but no moon. As I was locking directly overhead, 
there was a sudden, intense light, and a star burst 
into fragments. The pieces slid a short distance 
and then disappeared, as all shooting stars do. 
The utter noiselessness of the whole occurrence 
made it even more impressive and startling. Will 


you please ask your readers whether they ever 
have seen such a thing or read of anything like it ? 
Yours respectfully, SUSAN A. 


Gardiner, Maine. 

Dear Jack : I meant to have written to you before, telling how 
we boys coast in August, as I was reminded of it by reading the story 
about coasting down the grass-covered hills, in St. Nicholas for 
August, 1SS5. 

Along the Kennebec river are many huge ice-houses. The ice 
is sent away in big ships in summer. It is raised high in the air 
and swung on a sloping plank which reaches to the ship's deck. 
Block after block is dispatched in this way very quickly. We boys 
used to get pieces of old carpeting and put on the ice. Then each 
boy would seat himself on a carpet-covered block of ice, and, in 
something less than a wink, we would find ourselves on the ship. 
We did this, the boys and I, till our mothers found it out. Then 
we stopped. Your constant reader, John W. 


DEAR Jack : I saw some letters about turtles in 
your department, and so I thought I would write 
to you about something I noticed. I have a small 
turtle, and I have seen that the shell scales off in 
little pieces just the shape of the divisions on its 
back. It shuts its eyes by raising the lower lid. 
Has any one else noticed the first peculiarity ? 
Your reader, W. I. L. 


MR. C. F. HOLDER, I hear, is to tell you in 
the June St. Nicholas about some fishes and their 
young, so this is a good time to show you this 
letter from my friend Ernest Ingersoll, concerning 
a fish that weaves its nest. 

Dear Jack : Among the small fishes that in- 
habit the streams and ditches along the Atlantic 
coast of the Northern States, is the four-spined stick- 
leback. Like the rest of the sticklebacks, this spe- 

cies makes a nest in which the eggs are deposited. 
The male fish makes the nest himself and defends 
it with great spirit. It is about half an inch high 
and three-eighths of an inch in thickness. It is 
composed of stalks of water-weeds and small stuff 
of that kind, bound together by a glutinous thread 
which the fish spins out from a gland in his body, 
and which is wound round and round the nest to 
bind it together. It frequently happens, however, 
that in poking apart the straws with his nose this 
living bobbin will pass his body through the nest 
and back again, thus weaving the thread he reels 
out into the substance of the nest and sewing it 
tightly together. Yours truly, 

Ernest Ingersoll. 

a clever humming bird. 

You all remember, I am sure, " Robin's Um- 
brella," which was described and shown to you 
from this pulpit two months ago. Now I '11 tell you 
about the way in which a clever humming-bird 
shielded her little ones from the rain. There they 
were, a nestful, and the rain beginning to fall. 
The people who had watched the nest out of their 
window were concerned about the young birds, 
but the mother-bird evidently was prepared for the 
emergency. Near the nest grew a large leaf, — it 
was a butternut tree, — and on one side of the nest 
a small twig stuck out. When the drops began to 
fall, she came quickly, and with many tugs pulled 
the leaf over the little nest, for a roof, and hooked 
it by the twig on the other side, which held it 

Thus the half-feathered babies were kept as 
dry under their green roof as if their house had 
been built by a carpenter, like the sparrow -houses 
all around on the trees. 

When the rain was over, the mother came back 
and unhooked the leaf. 





Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be 

examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions 

will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

The Audubon Society, of which Jack-in-the-Pulpit informed our 
readers last month, takes its name from that of the great natu- 
ralist J. J. Audubon. It has been established for the purpose of 
fostering an interest in the protection of wild birds from destruction 
fur millinery and other commercial purposes. The head-quarters 
of the society are at 40 Park Row, New York City. It invites 
the cooperation of young folk in every part of the country. 

All of our readers who are interested in the handiwork of chil- 
dren, will remember Mr. Charles G. Leland's valuable papers con- 
cerning Brass- Work and Leather- Work for young folk, published in 
this magazine, and will be glad to know that St. Nicholas intends 
to print, before the close of the summer, an illustrated account of 
the Children's Industrial Exhibition held in New York City last 


We have the pleasure of beginning the Letter-Box this month with 
five letters from the other side of the world. First of all, comes one 
sent from Clermont, France, by "Georgine and Sybille," whose 
letter is very charming and welcome even though they may not " yet 
write welt English." 

Clermont, France. 

Dear St. Nicholas : If this will reach you but we don't know 
your addres. We have been having very pleasure to read you. We 
understant it better than much books in English. We think little 
Lord Fauntleroy very hue. If we tell you a fine tale you will 
print it'.' A fine dog lives in the village named Turc, he had 
hunger so he went to the chalet and pulled the cord with his patte, 
and when the domestique came she gave him to eat, and Turc goes 
all the days now and is given to eat. do you not think Turc is very 
clever? We are very sorry to terminate our letter, but we are fear- 
ful it be too long. You will give us very joy to print this. Mamma 
says we do notyet write well English. "Georgine and Sybille," 

Boitsfort, Belgium, 
Dear St. Nicholas: I receive your paper every month since 

November, when mother took it for a birthday present to me. I see 
that many children write to you. Perhaps you will publish my letter 
because it comes from a little Belgian girl. We live in a pretty place 
called Boitsfort, quite near Brussels, and quite near the Foret de 
Seignes, where we take pleasant rides, I on my pony, my brother and 
sister on the two donkeys. My brother Louis is nine, my sister Tata 
is six, and I am eleven. My cousin Helen, who is nineteen, traveled 
all over America last year with her father, and likes very much your 
country and the ways of the people there. She brought several 
papers for children, and we decided that St. Nicholas was the 
best ; that 's why mother gave it me. I hope I too will go once to 
the United States. Believe me, dear St. Nicholas, yours sincerely, 

Alice Solvav. 

San Remo, Italy. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Some of your readers might like to know 
what an Italian peasant's house is like. On the ground floor the 
donkey lives, on the second and third floors the people live, and on 
the roof the chickens live. 

If you wish to go and see them, you have to go up some narrow 
s'.airs that are very dark, but when you come out on the roof there 
is the most beautiful view of the quaint old town, with its red roofs, 
and the sky and sea. We went to walk to-day, and found violets, 
blue hyacinths, and daisies growing wild under the olive-trees. 

I get my St. Nicholas from London, but 1 am a little American 
girl from Cleveland, Ohio. Your loving reader, Lily May Z. 


Dear St. Nicholas: 1 live at Warsaw in the winter. I am ten 
years old. I have nine dolls and a King Charles dog, named Beauty, 
and she has a great antipathy to music. I am Polish, and have been 
learning English for two years. Mamma takes you for me, and I 
like your stories much. 

I hope this letter is not too long to print. Ina Kumar. 

Prinkipo, Sea of Marmora, Turkey. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I must tell you something about my life in 
Turkey I am an English girl, about thirteen years of age. 1 have 
been living in Turkey for twelve years. In the summer we go to 
the country, to the Island of Prinkipo. in the Sea of Marmora. It 
is very small and pretty. We have great fun there in the summer. 
We go out sailing and rowing. There are a great many donkeys at 
Prinkipo ; we often go out for rides on them. We generally go around 
the island, so you can imagine how small it is. It takes about one 
hour to ride around it on donkeys, and about one hour and a half to 
go around it on foot. 

The people here are mostly Greeks. Of course there are some 
Turks and Armenians. At the back of the island there are the ruins 
of the monastery of the Greek Empress Irene, who lived a long time 

I will tell you a little story about the dogs of this place. In 
Constantinople and the villages near it, there are a great number 
of dogs. All these dogs have their own quarters, and quarrel very 
much with those of other quarters. At San Stephano, about two 
years ago, some wolves came down from the mountains, and then 
all these dogs united and chased the wolves right back to the 
mountains. And then they went home to their quarrels again. 
What I mean is, that although they had their differences amongst 
themselves, they were ready to join together against the wolves. I 
hope my letter will be good enough to interest the other little girls 
who write to you, and who have never lived in Turkey. 

Your interested reader, Muriel P. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you about our performance 
of your comedy for children, " Dicky Dot and Dotty Dick." We 
got it up in our Cozy Club. I was stage manager. I am ten years 
old. My sister Christine was Dotty 1 . She is six. A little boy named 
Sidney was Dicky. He is six and a half. They both knew their 
parts perfectly, and did so well that even-body said it was too cute 
for anything, and I felt very much pleased. We all love St. 
Nicholas. Geraldine, 

Kansas City, Mo. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I was wishing for you before Christmas, 
because all ihe girls at school say you are so interesting. I never 
had a hope of getting you. But what do you think! On Christ- 
mas, to my great surprise, among my presents was a St. Nicholas. 
I jumped around with glee. I sat down, left all my other presents, 
and commenced reading you. I am eleven years old. I think the 
covering of you very pretty. The picture in front is " Apollo, the 
god of the sun." I am very fond of mythology. Mamma is going to 
have my St. Nicholas bound when this year is out. and I am going 
to take you next year. Hoping this letter will be printed, I remain, 
your devoted reader, Etta K, 




Dear St. Nicholas: I live in the country, very high up on the 
Hudson River Palisades. The woods are all about us, and my 
nurse takes me to the edge of the great cliffs to look down on the 
shining river, and see the steamers and the lovely white sails far over 
on -Long Island Sound. 

We have a baby colt in the pasture with his mamma, whose name 
is Aniline, because her glossy coat shines in bright tints when the 
sun strikes it. The colt follows us about like a large dog. Papa has 
taught him not to be afraid. 

At night when it grows dark, and I am undressed lor bed, we 
hear Owen calling the cows, " Here, Dolly ! Dolly ! Here, Jenny ! 
Jenny ! Jenny ! " 

Then he sits down to milk them, and the three cats all gather 
around him, watching and waiting for a sip. 

The katydids sing a great deal up here, and this is what Mamma 
has sung to me at bed-time, and you will guess from it, dear St. 
Nicholas, what my name is : 

ology, and the common branches, and I study French and Latin at 
Mrs. Newhall's. 1 have taken you for five years. Elaina T. 

Hartford, Conn. 

Dear St. Nicholas: In one of your nice magazines last sum- 
mer, you gave an account of how to make a string house, I thought 
it would be very nice to make one : so my sister and I tried it. We 
made it exactly according to the directions ; it took us three whole 
days, We enjoyed reading and playing in it very much. We made 
a kind of porch in front, so as not to make it look so much like a 

Wc have been taking you ever since 1SS0, and we like you better 
than any other book. I think your best stories are, "Little Lord 
Fauntleroy," and " From Bach to Wagner." 

Hoping you will print my letter, for my sister would not write — 
(she said you would not print it, but I hope to show her that you will) 
I remain, Your devoted reader, N. C. 

Out-of-doors the air is full 

Of voices small ; 
List to what they 're talking of, 

So busy all: 
" Did little Katy do to-day 

As she was bid ?" 
Something hastens to reply, 

" Katy did ! " 
Katy did n't! Katy did: 
She did ! she did ! ^he did ! 

Who this morn played in the hay? 

Katy did ! 
Who pulled pussy'> tail to-day? 

Katy did ! 
Did she eat all Grandma's cakes? 

Katy did n't! Yes, she did! 
Did she sometimes make mistakes ? 

Katy did, she did ! 

DH she sup on milk and bread? 

Katy did ; 
Did she run away to bed ? 

Katy did ; 
Said her prayers at Mamma's knee ! 

Katy did ! Katy did ! 
And fell asleep ! ah, dreary me ! 

Katy did, she did ! 
Katy did n't ! Katy did ! 
She did ! she did ! she did ! 

Fulton, Illinois. 

Dear St. Nicholas: We have been taking you ever since you 
first started, and I can never tell you how we all love and admire 
every feature you possess. 

I have two brothers and two sisters. My youngest brother is 
only seven, so you see we will have to take you several years yet. 

Papa and Mamma read you almost as much as they read their 
grown-up magazines. 

I live on a farm in the western part of Whiteside County, Illinois, 
about four miles from the Mississippi. We think it is a beautiful 
country' here with the bluffs, trees, and farming lands on the bot- 
toms. Our picture gallery is all outdoors. From your faithful 
reader, D. E. H. 

New York. 
Dear "St. Nick" (as you are nick-named among us): I have 
taken you ever since I was a very "small girl," and now, I am sorry 
to say, I am a very large one of eighteen. I am told that 1 ought to 
abandon dear old " St. Nick" for some " grown-up magazine,'" and 
I feel that it is indeed sad to grow old if giving up St. Nicholas is 
one of the penalties, which I shall take care that it shall not be. I have 
just fallen in love with "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and I wish the 
"small boy" of the present day would copy after him, but I 
fear that would be too "pretty a state of things." I am afraid to 
keep on lest I lose the opportunity of seeing myself in print and 
of boring the readers of the letter-box; so I shall clcse to avoid 
such a calamity. Faithfully yours, " Yum Yuiu," 

New Orleans. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am one of your constant readers, having 
taken St. Nicholas from the first number, and I do not think that 
a more interesting magazine for boys and girls can be found. I live 
in the quaint old Creole City of Nouvelle Orleans, as the Creoles 
call it. I was born here, and I expect to live here all my life. 1 do 
not think that you have any correspondents from New Orleans, at 
least I have seen none in the Letter-box. so I take the liberty of writ- 
ing to you. I tell you, dear old St. Nick, it would do you good 
to come and see our Carnival here in March: many children 
are dominoed and masked in fearful and fantastic costumes. Rex, 
King of the Carnival, enters in grand procession the day before Mardi- 
Gras, usually coming up the river on a steamboat, gayly decked in 
bunting. All the military turn out to escort him to the Royal 
Palace. The artillery battalions salute him on the levee, and then 
he parades through all the principal streets, t ienerally there are three 
night processions — those of i\lomus, Comus, and Proteus — and 
they are gorgeous beyond description, and there is one day proces- 
sion — that of Rex — which is also magnificent ; there are also a great 
many Burlesque organizations— I. O. O. M. (Independent Order of 
the Moon), and the Phunny Phorty Phellows are the principal ones, 
I hope you will publish this, as I think it will interest the boy and girl 
readers of St. Nicholas ; it is my first letter. I forgot to say that 
King Rex also parades the day after his arrival. 

Your loving reader, William S. P. 

Newport, R. I. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have often wanted to write to you before, 
to tell you how much I like your stories. In the July number of 
18S5, there was a story in which the training-ship " New Hamp- 
shire" was mentioned. I liked the story very much, because I can 
see the "New Hampshire" from my window. 

I am deeply interested in " Little Lord Fauntleroy," and I liked 
Miss Alcott's Spinning-wheel Stories very much. 1 hope to see my 
letter in print. Your constant reader, Mamie S. W. 

Woodmont, Conn. 
Dear St. Nicholas: My Uncle gave you to me for my birthday 
present, and I like your pages very much ; and I have two other 
friends that like you very much. I like the story named "Oh, 
Dear ! " very much, and my sister liked the story " Davy and the 
Goblin." We have a very cunning cat, and we call it Blaine. I 
hope my letter will be printed, as it is the first one I ever wrote, and 
I am anxious to see it in the magazine. 

Your little reader, Avis N. 

Hingham. Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have written several letters before, but 
none of them have been printed : but I hope that this one will be. 
I have a very nice time here in summer. My home is within forty 
feet of the water. I have a boat, and can row, swim, dive or fish. 
1 am just learning to ride on horseback. In the winter I live in Boston, 
and I have a governess to teach me algebra, English history, physi- 


Dear St. Nicholas : I live on a ranch in Colorado and I look- 
forward every month with great pleasure for the St. Nicholas. I 
am going to tell you about a donkey we had nnce ; we hitched him 
in a sled and tried to make him go, but he would not stir from home ; 
after a little while we succeeded, and when we turned around he 
went like the wind, so that we could hardly hold him. The same 
afternoon he ran into a post and broke the sled to pieces. 

We have coyotes here, and they kill our sheep. One day I saw 
the herd running as fast as they could, and what do you think was 
after them ? A horrid coyote, which was so thin that it looked as 
if it was going to die from hunger. The coyote is not a brave ani- 
mal: it will sneak around and kill sheep, but it will never fight dogs. 
This is the first letter I have ever written to a magazine. Good-bye, 
dear St. Nicholas. I am, ever your friend, Ida R. F. 

P. S. — I am eleven years old, and live eleven miles from a school. 
I have gained my education from reading St. Nicholas, and study- 
ing at home. 

6 3 6 



Buffalo, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas: In your February issue, there was a com- 
munication concerning "curve-pitching," and a diagram was used 
to explain why a ball curves in a certain direction. 

I beg leave to call attention to what I believe to be a mistake in 
the explanation. The writer says that the curve must be " toward 
the retarded side." I think it must be from the retarded side; for, 
the ball while advancing is also revolving in a horizontal plane, — 
we will say from right to left. 

In its rapid flight, the bail condenses the air in front and tends to 
form a vacuum behind, and the condensed air in front attempts to 
flow around the sides of the ball to fill the vacuum behind. 

Now, in the diagram mentioned, the side B, the rotation of which 
conspires with the motion of translation, resists, by friction, the at- 
tempt of the air to flow back ; while the side D, in which the motion 
of rotation is opposite to the motion of translation, offers no resist- 
ance to the air in flowing around its side. For that reason the ball 
meets with most resistance in front of B, and least in front of D. 
Hence, taking the direction of least resistance, it curves toward D 
or from the side of most resistance. 

Very respectfully, Elmer Stokr. 

"The Franklin," Washington, D. C 
My Dear St. Nicholas: I thought I would write and tell you 
how happy you have made me this winter. I am a little Washington 
girl, only ten years old, and have been spending the winter in Virginia 
for my health. It was very lonely there ; nnd nothing interested me 
so much as your stories. The " Brownies" are so funny ! 

I am writing this from my home in Washington; but I must tell 
you what a hard time I had to get here. The steamer I was on was 
caught in a blinding snow-storm, and had to anchor in the Chesa- 
peake Bay a whole day and night. Then, when we got nearly to 
Baltimore, a tug came to tell us that we could not get into Haiti- 

more for the ice; so the steamer turned around and went back to 
Annapolis. From there I took the cars to Washington. 

Good-bye. Your constant reader, Julia Rock. 

Sewickley, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : The following verbatim copy of a compo- 
sition by an eleven-year-old boy will interest some of your readers 
by its originality. It is without suggestion or correction. W. 

Dear Lunch Basket, 

Do you like to carry lunch? I like to eat the lunches that you 
carry ; sometimes you have better lunch than other times. I like 
it the best when you have chicken sallad in. I hope you do not ever 
take anything out of any other basket. I don't know very much to 
say to-day. Do you like a dog to carry you '.' I hope you will all 
ways have good lunches from this time on. Do you like the jam to 
run out of the bread on to you. I would not think you would, but I 
don't know what you would like. Would you rather be a boy ? 

H. B. 

We heartily thank the young friends whose names here follow, for 
pleasant letters received from them: Bessie C. Ketchum, " Yum- 
Yum" and " Ko-Ro," A. M. L., Susie M., Winnie Jackson, Eddie 
D. Sherlock, Henry W. Armstrong, Jessie Overlin, Herman Nelson 
Steele, Estelle K. D., Mark Waterman, Bijou J. McKinnon, George 

A. Root, Catherine H. L'Engle, Bessie M. Rhodes, Rita C. Smith, 
Fullerton L. Waldo, Emmett Murray, Mabel H. Chase, Elizabeth 

B. Kelsey, "Bee," Meg R. M., Myra E. Smith, Dorothy E. B., 
Nattie, Beth and C heme, Florence Ames, Maurice S. Sherman, 
Maud R., Al. Robinson and Stuart Tatum, Mary A. Evans, P. B. 
Jennings, Herbert Cutting, Katie B. Baird, Georgie King, Clara, 
Florence and Ada, Constance P. G., Mabel Thompson, Alice Bus- 
sing. James G. R. Flemming, Nellie Montgomery, Blanche E. B., 
Leigh Hodges. "Isabel Conway," Annie R. F., Bertie Byers, Edith 
I. Benedict, J. A. Bonsteel. 


Important Notice. 

The Agassiz Association is now so large, so widely known, and 
so firmly established, that, in order to protect ourselves from the 
annoyance of frivolous persons who, taken by the novelty of the 
idea, seek to join us just for the fun of the thing, and then drop 
away after a few weeks, we have decided to make the gates of 
admission swing just a trifle less easily. The following circular will, 
therefore, be sent hereafter to all who seek admission. It will be 
seen by every one that its requirements are sufficiently liberal : 

"Please Read Every Word Carefully. 

" The Agassiz Association is a Society for the observation of nature. 
It is composed of ' Chapters,' which, apart from the common name, 
constitution, and badge, are free to follow their own pursuits under 
the direction of the President of the A. A. The smallest number 
recognized as a Chapter is four, but after a branch has once been 
admitted, and has continued active for six months, it is not then cut 
off, though its membership should decline below four. 
t "There is no entrance fee for Chapters, nor any charge for registra- 
tion, or for the advertising of 'Exchanges' in St. Nicholas. 
There are no assessments, nor any " dues." The special classes, 

occasionally conducted by eminent scientists, are freely open to all 
members. The only necessary expense is 54 cents for the A. A. 
Hand-book. Engraved charters can be obtained for $1.25 each, as 
many Chapters and individual members wish them, but there is 
no obligation to purchase them. As we make no charges, we ap- 
preciate generous orders for the little hand-books, whose sales about 
cover the expenses of our enormous correspondence — usually 
nearly every member is glad to secure a copy. Individuals who 
join us without organizing a Chapter, are charged a fee of so cents 
in addition to the price of the Hand-book. 

" Kindly fill out the inclosed application form and card (excepting 
'No. of Chapter' ), and return them at once. Then, if accepted, 
the certificate, number, and letter will be sent. It must be made 
one of your by-laws that your Secretary send to the President a 
carefully prepared report at least once a year, and should you at any 
time be compelled to disband, immediate notice must be sent and the 
charter returned. 

" The St. Nicholas magazine is our only official organ, and it 
should be found on the table of every Chapter; this, however, is not 
compulsory. In the November, 1S85, issue of St. Nicholas, will 
be found full directions for the annual reports, which are required 
from every Chapter. 

" Badges are no longer to be had from Mr. Hayward, but should 
be ordered through the President. 



"Application for a Charter. 

" We, whose names are or, the accompanying card, hereby petition 
to be recognized as a Chapter of the Agassiz Association. We 
accept the constitution, we agree to the conditions of membership 
as explained in the circular from which this form has been detached, 
and we faithfully promise to do our best work in our several branches 
of study, and in all ways heartily to support and further the interests 
of the General Association. Respectfully 


The only new conditions are the agreement to send an annual 
report, and to send immediate notice, in case of disbanding. Failure 
to do the latter causes untold confusion throughout the whole 
Society, as the disbanded Chapters continue, sometimes for years, 
to be addressed by the active ones. 


Important as are the proceedings of our Chapters, as set forth in 
their " reports," they must not be allowed to crowd out the records 
of personal observation, which we have presented until lately under 
the heading — "Notes." We suggest, therefore, that all Chapters 
forward promptly to the President whatever items of interest come to 
their notice from time to time, without waiting lor the formal annual 
report of the Chapter's progress. The most important results of 
your observations should also be incorporated in your annual report, 
as being of quite as much general interest as [he condition of your 
treasury. We intend to devote a large share of this page to these 
" Notes," during the months of July and August, when no Chapter 
reports are due. 

Reports from the Fourth Century. 

314, Lancaster, Pa, (A). With the Bedford, Pa.. Chapter, we 
have exchanged at least seven thousand crystals of iron pyrites, for 
minerals, fossils, etc. Our egg, mineral, fossil, and shell cabinets 
are all pretty well filled with labeled specimens. We now propose 
to take up Botany, and desire to collect and mount at least four 
hundred specimens. Until another year has elapsed, we hope to 
pursue our studies of the myriad mysteries with which nature has 
surrounded us. — Edw. R. Heitshu. 

320, Peoria, Illinois. We like geology better than the other 
sciences. We have several fine localities in which to seek speci- 
mens, and we go searching for them whenever we get a chance. 
We have several fine trilobites, corals, and other fossil?;. We are 
very much pleased with the A. A., and are delighted when we read 
of the good work it has done. — James A. Smith. 

339, Salt Lake City (A). We are progressing very nicely. At 
the second or third meeting after our summer vacation, it was an- 
nounced that the type of a defunct newspaper had come into the 
possession of one of the members, and it was suggested that the 
Chapter publish a monthly pamphlet. 

The suggestion was carried into effect ; two members were elected 
editors and compositors combined. Friends kindly subscribed, and 
counting $5 generously .given by Dr. E. Evans, enough money was 
raised to buy a cabinet eight feet high and three and one-half feet 
wide. We are trying to get a library. Two of us are building 
large boats to take trips and explore Great Salt Lake. We have 
questions, two-minute talks, papers, select readings, and criticisms. 

We mean to try to make this the most successful year of our ex- 
istence. — Arthur Webb, Sec. 

350, Neillsville, Wis. The dawning spring wakens us all. We 
are planning a trip through Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona, 
which is to last all next winter. — M. F. Bradshaw. 

354, Litchfield, Conn. Our departments of ornithology and 
zoology exhibit the best results. Many new specimens have been 
added, and great improvement has been made in preserving them. 
The library has been increased. — Lewis B. Woodruff. 

355, North Adams, Mass. At present we have seventeen active 
and eleven honorary 7 members We have questions distributed at 
each meeting which the members are expected to answer at the fol- 
lowing meeting. We try to have at least one good essay each week, 
and occasionally a lecture. Our cabinet is pretty well filled. — M. 
Louise Radio. 

365, Hyde Park, Illinois. There have been fifteen regular and 
three special meetings during the past year. September 18, 1885, 
Mr. John F. Gilchrist was elected president, and Mr S. D. Flood 
vice-president of the Chapter. Since March 27, 1885, there have 
been 125 specimens presented. The total number now in the cabi- 
net is 1000. With the aid of the Board of Education, we have pur- 
chased a microscope valued at $100. The literary exercises have 
consisted, as a rule, of debates on subjects in natural science. — 
Blanche Longmire, Sec. 

374. Three of us have revived our Chapter. We devote ourselves 
to science instead of arguing parliamentary nonsense, as we used to 
do. We have come to the conclusion that if we want to apply our- 
selves to science we must drop parliamentary discussions. 

Here is an example of our latest resolutions: "Resolved, That 
any member who does not do his share in the scientific work, or by 
unseemly mirth distracts the attention of the meeting, shall, alter 
three reprimands by the president, be expelled from the Chapter." 

It is hoped by this and other cast-iron resolutions, to banish levity, 
and meet together as sober, earnest workers. We 'd rather have 
three earnest workers than thirty that take no interest. — Frank E. 

378, A molcr, Pa. Our Society is now composed of about sixty 
members, the teachers and scholars of Sunnyside School. We hold 


" Foly-o7nma-tus pscu-darg-io-lus .' — Gracious! if a little 

one like that has such a dreadful name, how can 

I ever remember the big ones ! 

fortnightly meetings; the exercises consist_ of referred questions, 
presentation of specimens, readings, occasional debates, and the 
reading of the Sunnyside Naturalist by the editor. The officers 
are: Pres., Mary McCann ; V. P., Helen Styer : Sec, Carrie 
A. Lukens; Treas., Anson Smith; Editor, John H. Rex We 
seem to be more interested in mineralogy- and entomology than in 
any other branches — Carrie A. lukens, Sec. 

382, Brooklyn, A'. J'. (F). This is our fourth year. We have 
eight active and eight honorary members. Meetings have been held 
weekly without interruption, except for summer vacations. Geology 
has been our subject during the greater part of the time. Each year 
we go a little farther into it. Our collection, while not large, is by 

6 3 8 



no means a poor one, and our pleasure is enhanced by examination 
of actual specimens. We have all been benefited by our study, and 
have now an intelligent general idea of geology. We have received 
very kind attention from the President of the "Brooklyn Entomo- 
logical Society," who is an enthusiast in plants and insects- No 
Chapter is more interested than ours in the growth and success of 
the entire Association. — D, A. Van Ingen, per B. S. 

380, Pine City, Minn. We think that keeping live animals is 
more profitable than only stuffed skins, as we have a live owl, and 
find it more interesting to watch him than to Match a skull and claws 
which belonged to another owl. We have, of insects, 980 species: 
minerals, no; stuffed birds. 6: animals, 2; heads, 4; skulls, 6; 
miscellaneous, 20. Total, 1128; and ici8 of them are native in 
Minnesota. — Ernest L. Stephen. 

387, Baltimore, Md (£). After your kind letter the members 
took courage and determined, under all circumstances, to continue 
the club. Our greatest difficulty was in securing a place to meet. 
In our despair we went to the President of our University (Johns 
Hopkins), who showed great interest in us, yet could not give us 
a room under his roo*". We then decided to store our collection 
(which amounts to packing them on my own shelve?, in the modest 
little room known in our family as "Ned's Den"), and accept the 
invitation of one of our young lady members to meet in her study. 
This we have been doing ever since. — Edward McDowell, for the 

395, Montreal (A). Since the organization of our Chapter on 
January 5, 1883, a wonderful change has taken place. Then only 
six individuals met to discuss the advisability of organizing a branch 
here ; to-day we have a large collection and a good attendance at the 

Each session of this branch commences on the first Friday in Octo- 
ber of each year and closes about the 15th of June of the following 
year. In this period we usually hold eighteen regular meetings. So 
far this session, we have had six regular meetings at which a number 
of excellent papers have been read : among them might be mentioned 
the following ; Origin of Life, by Rev. E. King, M. A. ; two papers 
on Botany, by H. McAdam. Esq. ; New and Variable Stars, by W. 
H. Smith, Esq., President of the Astro- Meteorological Association ; 
Our Insect Friends and Insect Foes, by Rev. T. W. Fyles ; Elec- 
tricity, by Prof. J. T. Donald, B. A, ; and Health, its Importance 
and its Laws, by Dr. Desrosiers, M. D. These papers were Fully 
illustrated with diagrams, specimens, and experiments. 

Our collection is steadily increasing, and numbers about 7000 
specimens at present, neatly arranged in ninety-two drawers con- 
tained in two large cabinets, and an upright glass case, which latter 
contains the mounted birds and mammals. Our little library, which 
contains only scientific publications, is nicely arranged in a bonk-case 
for the purpose. It includes about 153 volumes and many pam- 
phlets unbound. 

One very encouraging feature in our work has been that many of 
our young people who previously took but little interest in the study 
of nature have now gained a liking for the study, and a number have 
made private collections and are carefully studying the different 
forms in which they are specially interested. One member has care- 
fully studied the lile history of H. luna, one of our large bom by res, 
while another has been studying the flora of the Island of Mon- 
treal, and anothsr is devoting his time to chemistry. This latter sub- 
ject has been acknowledged by many of the members to be the fun- 
damental and most fascinating study, and the one most elevating to 
the mind, as it can not fail to lead a student from nature to nature's 
God, and I confidently believe the science which tends towards that 
is the study which will eventually take first place in the scientific 
world. — W. D. Shaw, Secretary, 34 St. Peter Street, Montreal, Can- 
ada; Thos. Patton, Pres. 

398, Roseville, N. J. Our Chapter has been divided into four 
sections, each having its own Chapter, and in turn instructing the 
club on its special subject. We have purchased a few standard 
books, a book-case, and a very handsome cabinet, which we have 
nearly filled with fine specimens. The leading events of the season 
have been a social party, and a debate on the comparative utility of 
wood and iron. We will never say die. — Sara Darrach, Secretary. 

400, Fargo, Dakota. We have rented a fine suite of rooms. We 
have eighteen members, and the prospect of as many more. We 
have a cabinet full of specimens, and are prepared to exchange 
minerals, shells. Indian relics, etc., with other chapters. We are 
settled now, and are doing good hard work. With best wishes for 
yourself and the A. A. — Frank Brown, Sec. Box 1769. 

Delayed Reports. 

262, Deitvcr (B). It has been a long time since any report has 
been made by this Chapter, and we have been so far separated that 
we could not do much for the A. A. ; but we hope to do better in the 
future. About one-half the members have been living in the East for 
two years, while the rest of us were here. We were united a little 

over a year ago, and since then there has been a great deal of sick- 
ness among us, ending disastrously; but for all that, we have had 
quite a mass of correspondence with other Chapters in all parts 
<>f the country, .and have also done some exchanging of specimens 
which has resulted very favorably for us, and, we think, for those 
to whom we have sent specimens. We have now a very nice cabinet, 
well filled with specimens which we value very highly, and we shall 
soon have to get another, as we have room for no more specimens. 
We hope to do some good work in the future in mineralogy, which 
is our particular branch ofstudy. — Ernest L. Roberts, Sec Box 2272. 

295, Boou" L >ilU\ N. J'. Our Chapter ran down for a long time, 
but a few months ago we started it anew and in earnest. 

We now have seven active members, and two honorary. We ex- 
pect more to join at our next meeting. We meet once a week at 
the houses of members. 

Not long ago we went to see an old geologist's cabinet of speci- 
mens. He has a great many. He said when he first commenced 
collecting he lived in an old log-house, and his first cabinet was a 
log split in two, with a board, that was used for a walk to the spring, 
nailed on it. If all the members of our Chapter were half as earnest 
to collect and preserve specimens as he was, we should have some 
lively times. — W. S. Johnson, Sec, 

An Invitation. 

The New England Meteorological Society invites the assistance 
of members of the Agassiz Association in New England and East- 
ern New York, in the observation of thunder-storms during the 
summer months. Records are wanted of the time of the beginning 
of rain and of the loudest thunder for every thunderstorm in all parts 
of New England. More complete records, giving temperature and 
direction of wind are welcomed from those who will make them. 
Instructions and blanks will be furnished, on application to 
W. M. Davis, Sec. N E. M. S., 

Cambridge, Mass. 


Minerals, curiosities, and fossils, for same. Send for list. E. G. 

Conde, Schenectady, N. Y. (Sec. £91). 

Pressed orange-blossoms, orange-wood, Japan plum-w.iod. fig- 
wood, Florida moss and other Southern curiosities, for labeled bird- 
skins, eggs, or nests. Write first. — Percy S. Benedict, 1243 St. 
Charles Street, New Orleans, La. 

Cocoons of the Cccropia and Promethea moths, for cocoons of 
other moths. — 3646 Vincennes Av., Chicago, 111. 

Pressed flowers. — Miss Alice Grass, Sec. 323, Bryan, Ohio. 

First-class bird-skins, for Southern skins or eggs. Write first. — 
L. M. Davies, 203 Newell St., Cleveland, Ohio. 

Botanical specimens, for same. Send lists. — Theo. Kellogg, De 
Pere, Wis. 

New Chapters. 



No. of Members. 


950 Swarthmore, Pa. (A) . . . 

951 Cleveland, O. (E) 

952 West Troy, N. Y. (A) . 

8. Maria W. Flagg. 
4. . L. M. Davies, 203 Newell St. 
1 3.. Geo. F. P. Michaelis, 

Watervliet Arsenal. 

953 La Porte, Ind. (C) 5. .Mrs. A. C. Loomis, Box 1069. 

954 Copenhagen, N. Y. (A). . . 5..L. L. Lewis, Box 174. 

955 Ridgefield, Conn. (A) 5.. Roger C. Adams. 

956 Alleghany, Pa. (B) 5. .A. D. Roessing, 

W. P. R. R. Depot. 


412 Syracuse, N. Y. (C) . 
165 Plymouth, Conn (A) . 
390 Chester, Mass. (A) . . 

. .B. Burrett Nash. 

4 \Y. C. Talmadge. 

..W. J. Stanton." 


597 Lawrence, Kansas (B) .... 4. F. L Wemple, noq Tenn. St. 
323 Bryan, Ohio (A) 8. . Miss Alice Grass. 

Address all communications for this department to the President 
of the A. A., 

Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, 

Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 


6 39 


The names of those who send solutions are printed in the third number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas "Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to Puzzles in thf February Number were received, too late for acknowledgment in the May number, from E. Muriel 
Grundy, England, 9 — No name, Warrington, England, 9 — A. H. Jameson, Accrington, England, 1 — Francis W. lslip, Leicester, Eng- 
land, 10 — 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 20, from " Clifford and Coco " — Maud E. 
Palmer — Paul Reese — Maud and Bessie — Xylo — Madge and the " Dominie " — No name — Quincy — Sallie Viles— " Pepper and 
Maria*'—" Baby, Bobby, and Booby" — J. P. B. — " San Anselmo Valley" — Josie .Martin — Dwight Merrill — " BHthedale "— " Betsy 
Trotwood " — May and Philip — Philip and Bobbie Faulkner — " Savoir et Sagesse " — Bertha Gerhard — Nellie and Reggie — "Mohawk 
Valley" — " Shumway Hen and Chickens " — " R. U. Pert" — E. H,— Lulu May— " B. L. Z. Bub, No. 2" — " Frying-pan "— Francis 
W. Islip — Hazel and Laurel — M. Margaret and E. Muriel Grundy — " Young England" — 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 20, from W. Young, 2 — E. Routh, 1 — Blanche 
and Fred, 8 — E. H. Rossiter, 1 — G. Roome, 1 — D. Dean, 1 — B. B., 1 — F. C. Barber, 2 — "The Crew," 1 — J. R. Smith, 1 — A. and 
B. Knox, 8— G. Gardner, 1 — V. F. Hunt, 1— F. Althans, 1 — Nanki-Pooh. 2 — R. E. Olwine, 2 — "Dazee," 3 — G. M. Bond. 1 —J. A. 
Bonsted, 1 — F. and M. Mellen, 1— W. W. Q., 1 — J. J. E., 1 — M. L. Hayward, 1 — R. L. Foering, 1 — A. G. and E. B. Converse, 1 
—J. H. Laycock, 1 — W. H. Stuart, 1 — N. McK., 1 — L. Simmons, 1 — B. B Witherspoon, 2 — Hilda and Laura, 1 — E. L. Du Puy, 
j — Mollie Ludlow, S — " Damon and Pythias," 1 — " Tweedledum and Tweedledee," 4 — E. De B. Wickersham, 3 — M. E. Breed, 1 — 
Howard and Nickie, 2 — F. E. Bond, 1 — Agnes E. Gmnsbine, 2 — " Tourmaline," 2 — W. K. Cornwell, 3 — Ned Mitchell, 3 — " Feb- 
ruary and June," 8 — M. G. Fiero, 3 — W. R. M., 8 — J. Moses, 1 — Edith Neil and Mamma, 8 — S. and F. Guttman, 5 — G. T. 
Hughes. 2 — Lizinka C. B., 1 — L. Reeves, 6 — Francesca and Co., 8 — E. C. Bliss, 1 — S. Hubbell, 3 — Mamie R., 7— J. R. Holme, 
Jr., 1 — L. A. Hosford, 1 — W alter La Bar, 8 — Eleanor, Maude and Louise Peart, 5 — Two Cousins, 8 — Dash, 8 — Hany A. Bull, 6 — 
F. M. Wickes, 3 — Becky and Floy, 2 — Emma St. C. Whitney, 4 — Fannie and Louise, 6 — N. L. Howes, 2 — "Zemie and Felice," 6 — 
"Anonymous," 2 — C. D. Mason, 2 — Fred T. Pierce, 4 — J. H. Miller, 1 — L. H. Adams, i-EffieK. Talboys, 6 — E. H. Seward, 6 — 
A. W. Lindsay, 6— A. and E. Pendleton, 8 — C. S. Seaver and A. M. Young, 8 — Lucia C. Bradley, 8 — "Jack Spratt," 4 — "Theo. 
Ther," 8 — Annette Fiske, 8 — C. and H. Condit, 8— Belle and Bertha Murdock, 7 — " Jabberwock," 8— T. Gutman, 4 — R. Lloyd, 
6 — L. Rice, 1 — L. L. Lee, 1 — Morris, 1 — Lillie, Olive, and Ida G., 6 — Aunt C. Avis, and G. S. Davenport, 7 — J. A. Keeler, 3 — 
Jessie D., 8 — Oscar and Rosa, 4 — A. R. Pabst. 3 — H. B. Weil, 2 — B. T. Dixon, 1 — " Sairy Gamp and Betsy Prig," 8 —Jo and 1,8 — 
Alice Crawford, 1 — No Name, Norfolk, 7 — Mamma and Pearl, 4 — C. Holbrook, 1 — Mamma and Fanny, 8 — Seband Barn, 8 — Pygro, 
— One Little Maid, 1 — E. Rossiter, 1 — M. L. G., 6 — F. D., 6 — Daisy and Mabel, 8 — " Dolly Varden," 4 — No name, Warrington, 5. 


1. The name of a large country. 2. The central part of an am- 
phitheater. 3. Tidy. 4. An insect 5. Two-thirds of a bird. 6 
A vowel. " SAMBO." 


'Across: i. A vessel with one mast. 2. A musical instrument. 

3. A fungus growth found on rye. 4. Serving to inspire fear. 5. 
Of a yellowish red color. 

Downward: i. In yesterday. 2. An exclamation. 3. Mineral. 

4. An imaginary monster. 5. Serving-boys. 6. A girl's name. 7. A 
common, whitish metal. 8. A boy's nickname. 9. In yesterday. 

H. H. D. 


My first is in branch, but not in tree; 

My second in land, but not in sea; 

My third is in orange, but not in seed ; 

My fourth is in plants, but not in weed; 

My fifth is in first, but riot in third ; 

My sixth is in mouse, but not in bird ; 

My seventh in smile, but not in pout; 

My whole the world would look lonely without. 



II. Upper Right-hand Diamond: i. In plans. 2. Marsh. 
3. A character in " Oliver Twist." 4. Africans. 5. The daughter 
of Tantalus. 6. Born. 7. In plans. 

III. Central Diamond: i. In plans. 2. An inclosure. 3. 
Pertaining to the puma. 4. The goddess of retribution. 5. Per- 
taining to a feature of the face. 6. Nothing. 7. In plans. 

IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond: i. In plans. 2. A boy's 
nickname. 3. A short staff. 4. Irritates. 5. A Latin word signi- 
fying " to be unwilling." 6. Born. 7. In plans. 

V. Lower Right-hand Diamond : 1. In plans. 2. To per- 
mit. 3. Of a lead color. 4. More than two. 5. Weary. 6. A 
name by which a father is sometimes called. 7. In plans. 



From the objects shown in the diamond, construct a "double 
diamond." iGne that will read differently across and up and down,) 
The two central words are shown in the center of the diamond. 

I. Upper Left-hand Diamond: i. In plans. 2. The fine soft 
hair of certain animals. 3. Prices of passage. 4. An early dissenter 
from the Church of England. 5. To furnish with anew point. 6. 
The juice of plants. 7. In plans. 


1. The month of October never is very cold. 2. She would as 
lief scrub as learn a hard lesson. 3. There was an iceberg engraved 
on the silver pitcher. 4. You must quit overworking or you will be 
ill, no doubt. 5. He knew her at once, by her peculiar gait. 6. 
Can you command a layman to do what is the pastor's work? 7. I 
love nice wicker-work. 8. The convicts are all sombre men, I should 
say, when they do such heavy work. " LOf c. lee." 





My primals spell the Christian name, and my finals the surname 
of a great and good man, who was born in June, and who died in 
June. He was connected with a famous English school. 

Cross-words (of equal length) : 1. The muse who presides over 
comedy. 2. Excessive fear. 3. The king of the fairies. 4. A pop- 
ular operetta. 5. Belonging to the stars. 6. A famous sailor. 



Each of the twelve little pict- 
ures in the accompanying 
illustration, suggests the 
name of a familiar berry. 
a „ Name the berries in 

' W& the order in which 

Ixtrjttfti tne >' are num- 


I. In redstart 
5. To turn aside. 


2. A meadow. 3. A caterpillar. 4. A snake. 
6. An insect. 7. In redstart. 



Ni Jeun 't si dogo ot eli hatbeen a teer 
Wheil eth thileb nesaso trosmocf veeyr neses, 
Stepse lal eth nabir ni stre, dan sheal eth thear, 
Grimminb ti o're hwit tensweses sawaruen. 
Gantfrar dan estnil sa atht syro nows, 
Wntewheh eth tyingpi papel eter Ails pu, 
Dan edentryl nesil soem stal-eary binio's tens. 


1. Behead a narrow piece of woven fabric and leave a quadruma- 
nous animal. 2. Behead a coarse file and leave a poisonous serpent. 

3. Behead an image or representation and leave to peruse. 4. Behead 
a small, pointed piece of metal and leave to be indisposed. 5. Be- 
head a Mohammedan prince and leave a person. 6. Behead current 
and leave a small fish. 7. Behead to throw or cast and leave to 

The beheaded letters, read in the order here given, will spell the 
name of a Sunday which comes in June. '• xylo." 


Across: i. Consuming by degrees. 2. A certain time cf one's 
life. 3. By degrees. 4. Daring. 5. One who chaffers. 6. Dis- 
played. 7. Contrition. S. The science of sounds. 9. Formerly 
much used in making furniture. 

The diagonals from 1 to 2 and from 3 to 4, each name a little song 



^Iy first, a happy youngster, 

Went forth one summer's day. — 
My second he was seeking, 

For he was fond of play. 
And quoth he, somewhat sagely, 

" I 've not a single sou 
To buy my -whole, so, really, 

I '11 have to make these do." 
He found the magic number; 

Then down the road he went 
To join his merry playmates, 
On game of whole intent. M. c. D. 


The problem is to change one given word to another given word, 
by altering one letter at a time, each alteration making a new word, 
the number of letters being always the same, and the letters remain- 
ing always in the same order. Sometimes the metamorphoses may 
be made in as many moves as there are letters in each given word, 
but in other instances more moves are required. 

Example : Change lamp to fire in four moves. Answer, lamp, 


i. Change ape to man in eight moves. 2. Change oars to boat 
in eight moves. 3. Change lead to gold in six moves. 4. Change 
warm to cold in five moves. 5. Change one to two in eight 
moves. 6. Change age to gas in seven moves. 



Mother Goose Puzzle. 

Hark, hark ! The dogs do bark, 

The beggars are coming to town; 
Some in rags and some in tags, 
And some in velvet gown. 
Numerical Enigma. A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
Of him that makes it. 

— Love* s Labor Lost, AcL v., Sc. 2. 
Pi. At times a fragrant breeze comes floating by, 
And brings, you know not why, 
A feeling as when eager crowds await 

Before a palace gate 
Some wondrous pageant ; and you scarce would start, 
If from a beech's heart 
A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should say, 

" Behold me! I am May ! " Henry Timrod. 

Central Acrostic Rowena. 1. sh-O-ne. 2. sh-E-U. 3. 
to-W-er. 4. cr-A-te. 5. pa-R-ry. 6. pa-N-ic. 

Greek Cross. Upper Square : 1. Start. 2. Tabor. 3. Above. 

4. Roves. 
3. Ample. 
Raven. 3. 
1. Sneer. 
Square: 1. 

Tress. Left-hand Square : 1. Tract. 2. Rumor. 
4. Coles. 5- Tress. Central Square : 1. Tress. 2. 
Evade. 4. Sedge. 5. Sneer. Right-hand Square : 
2. Noble. 3. Ebbed. 4. Elegy. 5. Redye. Lower 
Sneer. 2. Nacre. 3. Eclat. 4. Erato. 5. Retop. 

Triple Acrostic. Primals, centrals, and finals, mist-rust-less. 
Across: 1. MonaRchaL. 2. IntrUsivE. 3. SpinSterS. 4. TrusT- 

Inverted Pyramid. Across: 1. Dimension. 2. Devours. 3. 
Nitre. 4. Lee. 5. D. 

Connected Squares: Centrals, downward, house-w-right ; cen 
trals, across, heart-w-heels. I. 1. Echos. 2. Croup. 3. House. 4. 
Ousel. 5. Spell. II. 1. Ashes. 2. Siege. 3. Heart. 4. Egret. 5. 
Setto. III. 1. Pshaw. 2. Stela. 3. Heels. 4. Allot 5. Waste. 
IV. 1. Carom. 2. Amice. 3. Right. 4. Ochre. 5. Meter. 

Final Acrostic. Finals, Plantagenet. Cross-words: 1. shrimP. 
2. symboL. 3. salviA. 4. spraiN. 5. spiriT. 6. siestA. 7, 
sprinG. 8. simplE. 9. straiN. 10. satirE. n. straiT. 

Word-Squares in Diamonds. I. 1. S. 2 Pat. 3. Sates. 4. Tea. 
5. S. II. 1. F. 2. Tap. 3. Fares. 4. Pen. 5. S. III. 1. F. 2. 
Baa. 3. Fairy. 4 Art. 5. Y. 

Decoration Day Puzzle. 

Sleep, soldiers ! still in honored rest, 

Your truth and valor wearing : 
The bravest are the tenderest, — 
The loving are the daring. 

Hour-glass. Centrals, Cleveland ; Cross-words : 1. deliCious. 
2. sheLIac. 3. fiEnd. 4. EVa. 5. E. 6. iLl. 7. meAns. 8. 
misName. 9. overDoses. 

Word-square, i. Anna. 2. Near. 3. Name. 4. Area. 



Vol. XIII. 

JULY, 1886. 

No. 9. 

[Copyrighe, 18S6, by The CENTURY CO.] 

By Mrs. Eugenia M. Hodge. 

One hundred and nine years ago, in the month 
of February, 1777, a young French guardsman ran 
away to sea. 

And a most singular running away it was. He 
did not wish to be a sailor, but he was so anxious 
to go that he bought a ship to run away in, — for 
he was a very wealthy young man ; and though 
he was only nineteen, he held a commission as 
major-general in the armies of a land three 
thousand miles away — a land he had never seen 
and the language of which he could not speak. 
The King of France commanded him to remain 
at home; his friends and relatives tried to restrain 
him ; and even the representatives, or agents, of 
the country in defense of which he desired to fight 
would not encourage his purpose. And when the 
young man, while dining at the house of the 
British Ambassador to France, openly avowed his 
sympathy with a downtrodden people, and his de- 
termination to help them gain their freedom, the 
Ambassador acted quickly. At his request, the 
rash young enthusiast was arrested by the French 
Government, and orders were given to seize his 
ship, which was awaiting him at Bordeaux. But 
ship and owner both slipped away, and sailing 
from the port of Pasajes in Spain, the runaway, 
with eleven chosen companions, was soon on the 
sea, bound for America, and beyond the reach of 
both friends and foes. 

On April 25, 1777, he landed at the little port 
of Georgetown, at the mouth of the Great Pee 
Dee river in South Carolina ; and from that day- 
forward the career of Marie Jean Paul Roch Yves 

Gilbert Motier, Marquis de La Fayette, has held 
a place in the history of America, and in the in- 
terest and affection of the American people. 

When he first arrived in the land for which he 
desired to fight, however, he found but a cool re- 
ception. The Congress of the United States was 
poor, and so many good and brave American of- 
ficers who had proved their worth were desirous 
of commissions as major-generals, that the com- 
mission promised to this young Frenchman could 
not easily be put in force so far as an actual com- 
mand and a salary were concerned. 

But the young general had come across the sea 
for a purpose, and money and position were not 
parts of that purpose. He expressed his desire to 
serve in the American army upon two very singu- 
lar conditions, namely : that he should receive no 
pay, and that he should act as a volunteer. The 
Congress was so impressed with the enthusiasm 
and self-sacrifice of the young Frenchman that, on 
July 31, 1777, it passed a resolution directing that 
''his services be accepted and that, in consider- 
ation of his zeal, illustrious family and connections, 
he have the rank and commission of a Major- 
General of the United States." 

General Washington was greatly attracted by 
the energy and earnestness of the young noble- 
man. He took him into what was called his 
" military family," assigned him to special and 
honorable duty ; and when the young volunteer 
was wounded at the battle of Brandy wine, the 
Commander-in-Chief praised his ''bravery and 
military ardor " so highly that the Congress gave 




La Fayette the command of a division. Thus, be- 
fore he was twenty, he was actually a general, and 
already, as one historian says, he had "justified 
the boyish rashness which his friends deplored and 
his sovereign resented, and had acquired a place in 

Notwithstanding General Washington's asser- 
tion to Congress that La Fayette had made " great 
proficiency in our language," the young marquis's 
pronunciation of English was far from perfect. 
French, Spanish, and Italian were all familiar to 


him, but his English was not readily understood 
by the men he was called upon to command. It 
was therefore necessary to find as his aid-de- 
camp one who could quickly interpret the orders 
of his commanding officer. 

Such an aid was at last found in the person of 
a certain young Connecticut adjutant on the regi- 
mental staff of dashing Brigadier-General Wayne. — 
"Mad Anthony "Wayne, the hero of Stony Point. 

This young adjutant was of almost the same age 
as Lafayette ; he had received, what was rare 
enough in those old days, an excellent college 
education, and he was said to be the only man in 
the American army who could speak French and 
English equally well. 

These young men, General La Fayette and his 
aid, grew very fond of each other during an intimate 
acquaintance of nearly seven years. The French 
marquis, with that overflow of spirits and outward 
demonstration so noticeable in most Frenchmen, 
freely showed his affection for the more reserved 
American — often throwing his arms around his 
neck, kissing him upon the cheek and calling him 
"My brave, my good, my virtuous, my adopted 
brother ! " 

After the battle of Monmouth, which occurred 
on June 28, 1778, and in which La Fayette's com- 
mand was engaged against the British forces, who 
were routed, the marquis was enthusiastic in praise 
of the gallant conduct of his friend and aid. Not 
content with this, he sent to him some years after, 
when the aid-de-camp, then a colonel in rank, was 
elected to political honors, the following acrostic, 
as a souvenir, expressive of the esteem and remem- 
brance of his former commander. The initial let- 
ters of each line of the poem will spell out for you 
the name of this soldier friend of La Fayette. And 
here is an exact copy of the acrostic and of the 
postscript that accompanied it : 

Sage of the East ! where wisdom rears her head, 
Augustus, taught in virtue's path to tread, 
'Mid thousands of his race, elected stands 
Unanimous to legislative bands ; 
Endowed with every art to frame just laws, 
Learns to hate vice, to virtue gives applause. 

Augustus, oh, thy name that 's ever dear 
Unrivaled stands to crown each passing year ! 
Great are the virtues that exalt thy mind. 
Unenvied merit marks thy worth refined. 
Sincerely rigid for your country's right, 
To save her Liberty you deigned to fight ; 
Undaunted courage graced your manly brow, 
Secured such honors as the gods endow. — 

Bright is the page ; the record of thy days 
Attracts my muse thus to rehearse thy praise. 
Rejoice then, patriots, statesmen, all rejoice! 
Kindle his praises with one general voice ! 
Emblazon out his deeds, his virtues prize, 
Reiterate his praises to the skies ! 

M. D. La Fayette. 
p. S— The Colonel will readily apologize for the inaccuracies of 
an unskillful muse, and be convinced the high estimation of his ami- 
able character could alone actuate the author of the foregoing. 

M. D. La Fayette. 

So the name of the young general's friend and 
aid -de -camp was Samuel Augustus Barker. 

Years passed. The Revolution was over. 
America was free. The French Revolution, with 
all its horrors and successes, had made France a 
republic. Napoleon had risen, conquered, ruled, 




fallen, and died, and the first quarter of the nine- 
teenth century was nearly completed, when, in 
August, 1824, an old French gentleman who had 
been an active participant in several of these his- 
toric scenes arrived in New York. It was General 
the Marquis de La Fayette, now a veteran of nearly 
seventy, returning to America as the honored guest 
of the growing and prosperous republic he had 
helped to found. 

His journey through the land was like a triumph. 
Flowers and decorations brightened his path, 
cheering people and booming cannon welcomed 
his approach. And in one of those welcomings, 
in a little village in Central New York, a cannon, 
which was heavily loaded for a salute in honor of the 
nation's guest, exploded, and killed a plucky young 
fellow who had volunteered to "touch off" the over- 
charged gun when no one else dared. Some 
months after, the old marquis chanced to hear of 
the tragedy, and at once his sympathies were 
aroused for the widowed mother of the young man. 

He at once wrote to the son of the man who 
had been his comrade in arms in the revolutionary 
days half a century before, asking full information 
concerning the fatal accident, and the needs of the 
mother of the poor young man who was killed; and 
having thus learned all the facts, sent the sum of 
one thousand dollars to relieve the mother's neces- 
sities and to pay off the mortgage on her little home. 

I have before me, as I write, the original letter 
written by the General to the son of his old friend, 
the paper marked and yellow with the creases of 
sixty years ; and as I read it again, I feel that of 
all the incidents of the singularly eventful life of 
La Fayette there are none that show his noble 
nature more fully than those I have noted here : 
his enthusiastic services in behalf of an oppressed 

people, his close and devoted affection for his 
friend and comrade, and the impulsive generosity 
of a heart that was at once manly, tender, and true. 

And as I write, I am grateful that I can claim a 
certain association with that honored name of La 
Fayette; for the young adjutant to whom the 
acrostic was addressed and the friend through 
whom the gift to the widow was communicated 
were respectively my grandfather and my father. 

It is at least pleasant to know that one's ances- 
tors were the intimate friends of so noble a man, of 
whom one biographer has recently said : " He was 
brave even to rashness, his life was one of constant 
peril, and yet he never shrank from any danger or 
responsibility if he saw the way open to spare life 
or suffering, to protect the defenseless, to sustain 
law and preserve order." 

At the southern extremity of Union Square, in 
the city of New York, there is a bronze statue of 
La Fayette. As you have already been told in 
St. Nicholas, it represents him in graceful pose 
and with earnest face and gesture, " making offer 
of his sword to the country he admired — the 
country that sorely needed his aid. The left hand 
is extended as if in greeting and friendly self-sur- 
render, and the right hand, which holds the sword, 
is pressed against the breast, as if implying that 
his whole heart goes with his sword." Lafayette's 
words, " As soon as I heard of American independ- 
ence, my heart was enlisted," are inscribed upon 
the pedestal of the statue ; and a short distance 
from it, in the plaza adjoining the square, is an 
equestrian statue of Washington. It is fitting that 
the bronze images of those two great men should 
thus be placed together, as the names of Washington 
and La Fayette are forever coupled in the history 
and in the affections of the American people. 


By Frank Dempster Sherman. 

The meadow is a battle-field 

Where Summer's army comes : 
Each soldier with a clover shield, 
The honey-bees with drums. 

Boom, rat-ta! — they march and pass 

The captain tree who stands 
Saluting with a sword of grass 
And giving the commands. 

'T is only when the breezes blow 

Across the woody hills. 
They shoulder arms and, to and fro, 

March in their full-dress drills. 

Boom, rat-ta ! — they wheel in line 
And wave their gleaming spears. 
" March ! " cries the captain, giving sign, 
And every soldier cheers. 

But when the day is growing dim 

They gather in their camps, 
And sing a good thanksgiving hymn 
Around their fire-fly lamps. 
Ra-ta-ta ! — the bugle-notes 

Call " good-night ! " to the sky.— 
I hope they all have overcoats 
To keep them warm and dry ! 





By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

Chapter X. 

)HE truth was that Mrs. Errol had 
found a great many sad things in 
the course of her work among the 
poor of the little village that ap- 
peared so picturesque when it was 
seen from the moor-sides. Every- 
thing was not as picturesque, when 
seen near by, as it looked from a distance. She 
had found idleness and poverty and ignorance 
where there should have been comfort and in- 
dustry. And she had discovered, after a while, that 
Erleboro was considered to be the worst village in 
that part of the country. Mr. Mordaunt had told 
her a great many of his difficulties and discour- 
agements, and she had found out a great deal by 
herself. The agents who had managed the prop- 
erty had always been chosen to please the Earl, 
and had cared nothing for the degradation and 
wretchedness of the poor tenants. Many things, 
therefore, had been neglected which should have 
been attended to, and matters had gone from bad 
to worse. 

As to Earl's Court, it was a disgrace, with its 
dilapidated houses and miserable, careless, sickly 
people. When first Mrs. Errol went to the place, 
it made her shudder. Such ugliness and sloven- 
liness and want seemed worse in a country place 
than in a city. It seemed as if there it might be 
helped. And as she looked at the squalid, un- 
cared-for children growing up in the midst of vice 
and brutal indifference, she thought of her own 
little boy spending his days in the great, splendid 
castle, guarded and served like a young prince, 
having no wish ungratified, and knowing" nothing 
but luxury and ease and beauty. And a bold 
thought came into her wise little mother-heart. 
Gradually she had begun to see, as had others, 
that it had been her boy's good fortune to please 
the Earl very much, and that he would scarcely 
be likely to be denied anything for which he ex- 
pressed a desire. 

"The Earl would give him anything," she said 
to Mr. Mordaunt. " He would indulge his every 
whim. Why should not that indulgence be used 
for the good of others ? It is for me to see that 
this shall come to pass." 

She knew she could trust the kind, childish 
heart; so she told the little fellow the story of 
Earl's Court, feeling sure that he would speak of it 

to his grandfather, and hoping that some good 
results would follow. 

And strange as it appeared to every one, good 
results did follow. The fact was that the strong- 
est power to influence the Earl was his grand- 
son's perfect confidence in him — the fact that 
Cedric always believed that his grandfather was 
going to do what was right and generous. He 
could not quite make up his mind to let him dis- 
cover that he had no inclination to be generous 
at all, and that he wanted his own way on all occa- 
sions, whether it was right or wrong. It was 
such a novelty to be regarded with admiration as 
a benefactor of the entire human race, and the soul 
of nobility, that he did not enjoy the idea of look- 
ing into the affectionate brown eyes, and saying : 
" I am a violent, selfish old rascal ; I never did 
a generous thing in my life, and I don't care about 
Earl's Court or the poor people" — or something 
which would amount to the same thing. He actually 
had learned to be fond enough of that small boy 
with the mop of yellow love-locks, to feel that he 
himself would prefer to be guflty of an amiable ac- 
tion now and then. And so — though he laughed at 
himself — after some reflection, he sent for Newick, 
and had quite a long interview with him on the 
subject of the Court, and it was decided that the 
wretched hovels should be pulled down and new 
houses should be built. 

"It is Lord Fauntleroy who insists on it," he 
said dryly; " he thinks it will improve the prop- 
erty. You can tell the tenants that it 's his idea." 
And he looked down at his small lordship, who 
was lying on the hearth-rug playing with Dougal. 
The great dog was the lad's constant companion, 
and followed him about everywhere, stalking 
solemnly after him when he walked, and trotting 
majestically behind when he rode or drove. 

Of course, both the country people and the 
town people heard of the proposed improvement. 
At first, many of them would not believe it; but 
when a small army of workmen arrived and com- 
menced pulling down the crazy, squalid cottages, 
people began to understand that little Lord Faunt- 
leroy had done them a good turn again, and that 
through his innocent interference the scandal of 
Earl's Court had at last been removed. If he had 
only known how they talked about him and praised 
him everywhere, and prophesied great things for 
him when he grew up, how astonished he would 
have been ! But he never suspected it. He lived 




his simple, happy child life, — frolicking about in 
the park ; chasing the rabbits to their burrows ; 
lying under the trees on the grass, or on the rug 
in the library, reading wonderful books and talking 
to the Earl about them, and then telling the sto- 
ries again to his mother ; writing long letters to 
Dick and Mr. Hobbs, who responded in character- 
istic fashion ; riding out at his grandfather's side, 
or with Wilkins as escort. As they rode through 
the market town, he used to see the people turn 
and look, and he noticed that as they lifted their 


hats their faces often brightened very much, but 
he thought it was all because his grandfather was 
with him. 

" They are so fond of you," he once said, look- 
ing up at his lordship with a bright smile. " Do 
you see how glad they are when they see you? 1 
hope they will some day be as fond of me. It 
must be nice to have ,?rvrj'body like you." And 
he felt quite proud to be the grandson of so greatly 
admired and beloved an individual. 

When the cottages were being built, the lad 
and his grandfather used to ride over to Earl's 
Court together to look at them, and Fauntleroy 
was full of interest. He would dismount from his 
pony and go and make acquaintance with the 
workman, asking them questions about building 
and bricklaying, and telling them things about 

America. After two or three such conversations, 
he was able to enlighten the Earl on the subject 
of brickmaking, as they rode home. 

" I always like to know about things like those," 
he said, "because you never know what you are 
coming to." 

When he left them, the workmen used to talk him 
over among themselves, and laugh at his odd, in- 
nocent speeches ; but they liked him, and liked to 
see him stand among them, talking away, with his 
hands in his pockets, his hat pushed back on his 
curls, and his small face full of eagerness. " He 's 
a rare tin," they used to say. "An' a woise little 
outspoken chap too. Not much o' th' bad stock in 
him." And they would go home and tell their 
wives about him, and the women would tell each 
other, and so it came about that almost every one 
talked of, or knew some story of, little Lord Faun- 
tleroy ; and gradually almost every one knew that 
the '• wicked Earl " had found something he cared 
for at last — somethingwhich had touched and even 
warmed his hard, bitter old heart. 

lint no one knew quite how much it had been 
warmed, and how day by day the old man found 
himself caring more and more for the child, who 
was the only creature that had ever trusted him. 
He found himself looking forward to the time when 
Cedric would be a young man, strong and beautiful, 
with life all before him, but having still that kind 
heart and the power to make friends everywhere ; 
and the Earl wondered what the lad would do, and 
how he would use his gifts. Often as he watched 
the little fellow lying upon the hearth, conning 
some big book, the light shining on the bright 
young head, his old eyes would gleam and his 
cheek would flush. 

"The boy can do anything," he would say to 
himself, "anything!" 

He never spoke to any one else of his feeling 
for Cedric ; when he spoke of him to others it was 
always with the same grim smile. But Fauntleroy 
soon knew that his grandfather loved him and 
always liked him to be near — near to his chair if 
they were in the library, opposite to him at table, 
or by his side when he rode or drove or took his 
evening walk on the broad terrace. 

" Do you remember," Cedric said once, looking 
up from his book as he lay on the rug, "do you re- 
member what I said to you that first night about 
our being good companions? I don't think any 
people could be better companions than we arc, do 

" We are pretty good companions, I should say," 
replied his lordship. " Come here." 

Fauntleroy scrambled up and went to him. 

" Is there anything you want," the Earl asked ; 
" anything vou have not ? " 




The little fellow's brown eyes fixed themselves 
on his grandfather with a rather wistful look. 

" Only one thing," he answered. 

" What is that ? " inquired the Earl. 

Fauntleroy was silent a second. He had not 
thought matters over to himself so long for noth- 

" What is it ? " my lord repeated. 

Fauntleroy answered. 

" It is Dearest," he said. 

The old Earl winced a little. 

"But you see her almost everyday," he said. 
" Is not that enough ? " 

" I used to see her all the time," said Fauntle- 
roy. " She used to kiss me when I went to sleep 
at night, and in the morning she was always there, 
and we could tell each other things without wait- 

The old eyes and the young ones looked into 
each other through a moment of silence. Then 
the Earl knitted his brows. 

" Do you never forget about your mother ? " he 

" No," answered Fauntleroy, "never: and she 
never forgets about me. I should n't forget about 
you, you know, if I didn't live with you. I should 
think about you all the more." 

"Upon my word," said the Earl, after looking 
at him a moment longer, " I believe you would ! " 

The jealous pang that came when the boy spoke 
so of his mother seemed even stronger than it had 
been before — it was stronger because of this old 
man's increasing affection for the boy. 

But it was not long before he had other pangs, so 
much harder to face that he almost forgot, for the 
time, he had ever hated his son's wife at all. And 
in a strange and startling way it happened. One 
evening, just before the Earl's Court cottages were 
completed, there was a grand dinner party at Dorin- 
court. There had not been such a party at the 
Castle for a long time. A few days before it took 
place, Sir Harry Lorridaile and Lady Lorridaile, 
who was the Earl's only sister, actually came for 
a visit — a thing which caused the greatest excite- 
ment in the village and set Mrs. Dibble's shop- 
bell tingling madly again, because it was well 
known that Lady Lorridaile had only been to Dor- 
incourt once since her marriage, thirty-five years 
before. She 'was a handsome old lady with white 
curls and dimpled, peachy cheeks, and she was as 
good as gold, but she had never approved of her 
brother any more than did the rest of the world, 
and having a strong will of her own and not being 
at all afraid to speak her mind frankly, she had, 
after several lively quarrels with his lordship, seen 
very little of him since her young days. 

She had heard a great deal of him that was not 

pleasant through the years in which they had been 
separated. She had heard about his neglect of his 
wife, and of the poor lady's death ; and of his in- 
difference to his children ; and of the two weak, 
vicious, unprepossessing elder boys who had been 
no credit to him or to any one else. Those two 
elder sons, Bevis and Maurice, she had never seen ; 
but once there had come to Lorridaile Park a tall, 
stalwart, beautiful young fellow about eighteen 
years old who had told her that he was her nephew 
Cedric Errol, and that he had come to see her be- 
cause he was passing near the place and wished to 
look at his Aunt Constantia of whom he had 
heard his mother speak. Lady Lorridaile's kind 
heart had warmed through and through at the sight 
of the young man, and she had made him stay 
with her a week, and petted him, and made much 
of him and admired him immensely. He was so 
sweet-tempered, light-hearted, spirited a lad, that 
when he went away, she had hoped to see him 
often again ; but she never did, because the Earl 
had been in a bad humor when he went back to 
Dorincourt, and had forbidden him ever to go to 
Lorridaile Park again. But Lady Lorridaile had 
always remembered him tenderly, and though she 
feared he had made a rash marriage in America, 
she had been very angry when she heard how he 
had been cast off by his father and that no one really 
knew where or how he lived. At last there came a 
rumor of his death, and then Bevis had been thrown 
from his horse and killed, and Maurice had died in 
Rome of the fever ; and soon after came the story 
of the American child who was to be found and 
brought home as Lord Fauntleroy. 

" Probably to be ruined as the others were," she 
said to her husband, "unless his mother is good 
enough and has a will of her own to help her to 
take care of him." 

But when she heard that Cedric's mother had 
been parted from him she was almost too indignant 
for words. 

" It is disgraceful, Harry ! " she said. " Fancy 
a child of that age being taken from his mother, 
and made the companion of a man like my 
brother ! The old Earl will either be brutal to the 
boy or indulge him until he is a little monster. 
If I thought it would do any good to write " 

" It wouldn't, Constantia," said Sir Harry. 

" I know it would n't," she answered. " I know 
his lordship the Earl of Dorincourt too well; — but 
it is outrageous." 

Not only the poor people and farmers heard 
about little Lord Fauntleroy; others knew of him. 
He was talked about so much and there were so 
many stories of him — of his beauty, his sweet 
temper, his popularity, and his growing influence 
over the Earl, his grandfather — that rumors of him 

1 886.] 



reached the gentry at their country places and in his lordship's amiability. Sir Thomas Asshe of 

he was heard of in more than one county of Eng- Asshaine Hall, being in Erleboro one day, met the 

land. People talked about him at the dinner tables, Earl and his grandson riding together and stopped 

ladies pitied his young mother, and wondered if the to shake hands with my lord and congratulate him 

, K' 1 - 4 


boy were as handsome as he was said to be, and on his change of looks and on his recovery from the 
men who knew the Earl and his habits laughed gout. " And, d 'ye know !" he said, when he spoke 
heartily at the stories of the little fellow's belief of the incident afterward, " the old man looked as 




proud as a turkey-cock; and upon my word I don't 
wonder, for a handsomer, finer lad than his grand- 
son I never saw ! As straight as a dart, and sat 
his pony like a young trooper ! " 

And so by degrees Lady Lorridaile, too, heard of 
the child ; she heard about Higgins, and the 
lame boy, and the cottages at Earl's Court, and a 
score of other things,— and she began to wish to 
see the little fellow. And just as she was wondering 
how it might be brought about, to her utter aston- 
ishment, she received a letter from her brother 
inviting her to come with her husband to Dorin- 

"It seems incredible!" she exclaimed. "I 
have heard it said that the child has worked mira- 
cles, and I begin to believe it. They say my 
brother adores the boy and can scarcely endure to 
have him out of sight. And he is so proud of 
him ! Actually, I believe he wants to show him to 
us." And she accepted the invitation at once. 

When she reached Dorincourt Castle with Sir 
Harry, it was late in the afternoon, and she went 
to her room at once before seeing her brother. 
Having dressed for dinner she entered the drawing- 
room. The Earl was there standing near the fire 
and looking very tall and imposing ; and at his side 
stood a little boy in black velvet, and a large Van- 
dyke collar of rich lace — a little fellow whose 
round bright face was so handsome, and who turned 
upon her such beautiful, candid brown eyes, that 
she almost uttered an exclamation of pleasure and 
surprise at the sight. 

As she shook hands with the Earl, she called him 
by the name she had not used since her girlhood. 

" What, Molyneux," she said, " is this the 

" Yes, Constantia," answered the Earl, " this is 
the boy. Fauntleroy, this is your grand-aunt, 
Lady Lorridaile." 

" How do you do. Grand- Aunt? " said Fauntle- 

Lady Lorridaile put her hand on his shoulders, 
and after looking down into his upraised face a few 
seconds, kissed him warmly. 

" I am your Aunt Constantia," she said, " and 
I loved your poor papa, and you are verv like 

"It makes me glad when I am told I am like 
him," answered Fauntleroy, " because it seems as if 
every one liked him, — just like Dearest, eszackly, — 
Aunt Constantia," (adding the two words after a 
second's pause.) 

Lady Lorridaile was delighted. She bent and 
kissed him again, and from that moment they 
were warm friends. 

"Well, Molyneux," she said aside to the Earl after- 
ward, "it could not possibly be better than this!" 

'■ I think not," answered his lordship dryly. 
"He is a fine little fellow. We are great friends. 
He believes me to be the most charming and sweet- 
tempered of philanthropists. I will confess to you, 
Constantia, — as you would find it out if I did not, — 
that I am in some slight danger of becoming 
rather an old fool about him." 

" What does his mother think of you?" asked 
Lady Lorridaile, with her usual straightforwardness. 

"I have not asked her," answered the Earl, 
slightly scowling. 

" Well," said Lady Lorridaile, " I will be frank 
with you at the outset, Molyneux, and tell you I 
don't approve of your course, and that it is my 
intention to call on Mrs. Errol as soon as possible ; 
so if you wish to quarrel with me, you had better 
mention it at once. What I hear of the young 
creature makes me quite sure that her child owes 
her everything. We were told even at Lorridaile 
Park that your poorer tenants adore her already." 

" They adore him," said the Earl, nodding to- 
ward Fauntleroy. " As to Mrs. Errol, you '11 find 
her a pretty little woman. I 'm rather in debt to 
her for giving some of her beauty to the boy, and 
you can go to see her if you like. All I ask is that 
she will remain at Court Lodge and that you will 
not ask me to go and see her," and he scowled a 
little again. 

" But he does n't hate her as much as he used 
to, that is plain enough to me," her ladyship said 
to Sir Harry afterward. "And he is a changed 
man in a measure, and, incredible as it may seem, 
Harry, it is my opinion that he is being made into 
a human being, through nothing more nor less 
than his affection for that innocent, affectionate 
little fellow. Why, the child actually loves him — 
leans on his chair and against his knee. My lord's 
own children would as soon have thought of nest- 
ling up to a tiger." 

The very next day she went to call upon 
Mrs. Errol. When she returned, she said to her 

" Molyneux, she is the loveliest little woman I 
ever saw ! She has a voice like a silver bell, and 
you may thank her for making the boy what he is. 
She has given him more than her beauty, and you 
make a great mistake in not persuading her to 
come and take charge of you. I shall invite her to 

" She '11 not leave the boy," replied the Earl. 

•' I must have the boy too," said Lady Lorri- 
daile, laughing. 

But she knew Fauntleroy would not be given up 
to her, and each day she saw more clearly how 
closely those two had grown to each other, and how 
all the proud, grim old man's ambition and hope 
and love centered themselves in the child, and how 



the warm, innocent nature returned his affection 
with most perfect trust and good faith. 

She knew, too, that the prime reason for the great 
dinner party was the Earl's secret desire to show 
the world his grandson and heir, and to let people 
see that the boy who had been so much spoken of 
and described was even a finer little specimen of 
boyhood than rumor had made him. 

" Bevis and Maurice were such a bitter humilia- 
tion to him," she said to her husband. " Every 
one knew it. He actually hated them. His pride 
has full sway here." Perhaps there was not one 
person who accepted the invitation without feeling 
some curiosity about little Lord Fauntleroy, and 
wondering if he would be on view. 

And when the time came he was on view. 

"The lad has good manners," said the Earl. 
" He will be in no one's way. Children are usually 
idiots or bores, — mine were both, — but he can 
actually answer when he 's spoken to, and be silent 
when he is not. He is never offensive." 

But he was not allowed to be silent very long. 
Every one had something to say to him. The fact 
was they wished to make him talk. The ladies 
petted him and asked him questions, and the men 
asked him questions too, and joked with him, as 
the men on the steamer had done when he crossed 
the Atlantic. Fauntleroy did not quite understand 
why they laughed so sometimes when he answered 
them, but he was so used to seeing people amused 
when he was quite serious, that he did not mind. 
He thought the whole evening delightful. The 
magnificent rooms were so brilliant with lights, 
there were so many flowers, the gentlemen seemed 
so gay, and the ladies wore such beautiful, won- 
derful dresses, and such sparkling ornaments in 
their hair and on their necks. There was one 
young lady who, he heard them say, had just come 
down from London, where she had spent the 
"season"; and she was so charming that he 
could not keep his eyes from her. She was a rather 
tall young lady with a proud little head, and 
very soft dark hair, and large eyes the color of 
purple pansies, and the color on her cheeks and 
lips was like that of a rose. She was dressed in a 
beautiful white dress, and had pearls around her 
throat. There was one strange thing about this 
young lady. So many gentlemen stood near her, 
and seemed anxious to please her, that Fauntleroy 
thought she must be something like a princess. 
He was so much interested in her that without 
knowing it he drew nearer and nearer to her and 
at last she turned and spoke to him. 

" Come here, Lord Fauntleroy," she said, smil- 
ing ; " and tell me why you look at me so." 

" I was thinking how beautiful you are," his 
young lordship replied. 

Then all the gentlemen laughed outright, and 
the young lady laughed a little too, and the rose 
color in her cheeks brightened. 

" Ah, Fauntleroy," said one of the gentlemen 
who had laughed most heartily, " make the most 
of your time ! When you are older you will not 
have the courage to say that." 

" But nobody could help saying it," said Faun- 
tleroy sweetly. " Could you help it? Don't you 
think she is pretty too? " 

" We are not allowed to say what we think," 
said the gentleman, while the rest laughed more 
than ever. 

But the beautiful young lady — her name was 
Miss Vivian Herbert — put out her hand and drew 
Cedric to her side, looking prettier than before, if 

" Lord Fauntleroy shall say what he thinks," 
she said ; " and I am much obliged to him. I am 
sure he thinks what he says." And she kissed 
him on his cheek. 

" I think you are prettier than any one I ever 
saw," said Fauntleroy, looking at her with inno- 
cent, admiring eyes, "except Dearest. Of course, 
I could n't think any one quite as pretty as Dear- 
est. I think she is the prettiest person in the 

" I am sure she is," said Miss Vivian Herbert. 
And she laughed and kissed his cheek again. 

She kept him by her side a great part of the 
evening, and the group of which they were the 
center was very gay. He did not know how it 
happened, but before long he was telling them all 
about America, and the Republican Rally, and 
Mr. Hobbs and Dick, and in the end he proudly 
produced from his pocket Dick's parting gift, — 
the red silk handkerchief. 

" I put it in my pocket to-night because it was 
a party," he said. " I thought Dick would like 
me to wear it at a party." 

And queer as the big, flaming, spotted thing 
was, there was a serious, affectionate look in his 
eyes, which prevented his audience from laughing 
very much. 

" You see I like it," he said, "because Dick is 
my friend." 

But though he was talked to so much, as the 
Earl had said, he was in no one's way. He could 
be quiet and listen when others talked, and so no 
one found him tiresome. A slight smile crossed 
more than one face when several times he went 
and stood near his grandfather's chair, or sat on a 
stool close to him, watching him and absorbing 
every word he uttered with the. most charmed in- 
terest. Once he stood so near the chair's arm that 
his cheek touched the Earl's shoulder, and his 
lordship, detecting the general smile, smiled a little 




himself. He knew what the lookers-on were 
thinking, and he felt some secret amusement in 
their seeing what a good friend he was to this 
youngster, who might have been expected to share 
the popular opinion of him. 

Mr. Havisham had been expected to arrive in 
the afternoon, but, strange to say, he was late. 
Such a thing had really never been known to hap- 
pen before during all the years in which he had 
been a visitor at Dorincourt Castle. He was so 
late that the guests were on the point of rising to 
go in to dinner when he arrived. When he ap- 
proached his host, the Earl regarded him with 
amazement. He looked as if he had been hurried 
or agitated ; his dry, keen old face was actually pale. 

" I was detained," he said, in a low voice to the 
Earl, "by — an extraordinary event." 

It was as unlike the methodic old lawyer to be 
agitated by anything as it was to be late, but it was 
evident that he had been disturbed. At dinner he 
ate scarcely anything, and two or three times, when 
he was spoken to, he started as if his thoughts were 
far away. At dessert, when Fauntleroy came in, 
he looked at him more than once, nervously and 
uneasily. Fauntleroy noted the look and won- 
dered at it. He and Mr. Havisham were on friendly 
terms, and they usually exchanged smiles. The 
lawyer seemed to have forgotten to smile that 

The fact was he forgot everything but the strange 
and painful news he knew he must tell the Earl be- 
fore the night was over — the strange news which 
he knew would be so terrible a shock, and which 
would change the face of everything. As he looked 
about at the splendid rooms and the brilliant com- 
pany, — at the people gathered together, he knew, 
more that they might see the bright-haired little 
fellow near the Earl's chair than for any other rea- 
son, — as he looked at the proud old man and at 
little Lord Fauntleroy smiling at his side, he really 
felt quite shaken, notwithstanding that he was a 
hardened old lawyer. What a blow it was that he 
must deal them ! 

He did not exactly know how the long, superb 
dinner ended. He sat through it as if he were in 
a dream, and several times he saw the Earl glance 
at him in surprise. 

But it was over at last, and the gentlemen joined 
the ladies in the drawing-room. They found 
Fauntleroy sitting on a sofa with Miss Vivian Her- 
bert, — the great beauty of the last London sea- 
son; they had been looking at some pictures, and 
he was thanking his companion, as the door 

" I 'm ever so much obliged to you for being 
so kind to me !" he was saying ; "I never was at 
a party before, and I 've enjoyed myself so much ! " 

He had enjoyed himself so much that when the 
gentlemen gathered about Miss Herbert again and 
began to talk to her, as he listened and tried to 
understand their laughing speeches, his eyelids 
began to droop. They drooped until they covered 
his eyes two or three times, and then the sound of 
Miss Herbert's low, pretty laugh would bring him 
back, and he would open them again for about two 
seconds. He was quite sure he was not going to 
sleep, but there was a large, yellow satin cushion 
behind him and his head sank against it, and after 
a while his eyelids drooped for the last time. They 
did not even quite open when, as it seemed a long 
time after, some one kissed him lightly on the 
cheek. It was Miss Vivian Herbert, who was go- 
ing away, and she spoke to him softly. 

" Good-night, little Lord Fauntleroy," she said. 
" Sleep well." 

And in the morning he did not know that he had 
tried to open his eyes and had murmured sleepily, 

" Good-night — I 'm so — glad — I saw you— you 
are so — pretty " 

He only had a very faint recollection of hearing 
the gentlemen laugh again and of wondering why 
they did it. 

j sooner had the last 
guest left the room, 
than Mr. Havisham 
turned from his place 
by the fire, and stepped 
nearer the sofa, where 
he stood looking down 
at the sleeping occu- 
pant. Little Lord 
Fauntleroy was taking 
his ease luxuriously. 
One leg crossed the 
other and swung over 
lU ^-i the edge of the sofa ; one arm was 

flung easily above his head ; the warm flush of 

healthful, happy, childish sleep was on his quiet 

face ; his waving tangle of bright hair strayed over 

the yellow satin cushion. He made a picture well 

worth looking at. 

As Mr. Havisham looked at it, he put his hand 

up and rubbed his shaven chin, with a harassed 


"Well, Havisham," said the Earl's harsh voice 

behind him. "Whatisit? It is evident something 

has happened. What was the extraordinary event, 

if I may ask?" 

Mr. Havisham turned from the sofa, still rubbing 

his chin. 

" It was bad news," he answered, " distressing 

news, my lord — the worst of news. I am sorry to 

be the bearer of it." 



The Earl had been uneasy for some time du- 
ring the evening, as he glanced at Mr. Havisham, 
and when he was uneasy he was always ill-tem- 

'• Why do you look so at the boy ! " he exclaimed 
irritably. " You have been looking at him all the 
evening as if — See here now, why should you look 
at the boy, Havisham, and hang over him like 
some bird of ill-omen ! What has your news to do 
with Lord Fauntleroy ? " 

" My lord," said Mr. Havisham, " I will waste 
no words. My news has everything to do with 
Lord Fauntleroy. And if we are to believe it — it 
is not Lord Fauntleroy who lies sleeping before us, 
but only the son of Captain Errol. And the 
present Lord Fauntleroy is the son of your son 
Bevis, and is at this moment in a lodging-house in 

The Earl clutched the arms of his chair with 
both his hands until the veins stood out upon them ; 
the veins stood out on his forehead too ; his fierce 
old face was almost livid. 

" What do you mean ! " he cried out. " You 
are mad ! Whose lie is this ? " 

" If it is a lie," answered Mr. Havisham, " it is 
painfully like the truth. A woman came to my 
chambers this morning. She said your son Bevis 
married her six years ago in London. She showed 
me her marriage certificate. They quarreled a 
year after the marriage, and he paid her to keep 
away from him. She has a son five years old. 
She is an American of the lower classes, — an 
ignorant person, — and until lately she did not fully 
understand what her son could claim. She con- 
sulted a lawyer and found out that the boy was 
really Lord Fauntleroy and the heir to the earl- 
dom of Dorincourt ; and she, of course, insists 
on his claims being acknowledged." 

There was a movement of the curly head on the 
yellow satin cushion. A soft, long, sleepy sigh 
came from the parted lips, and the little boy stirred 
in his sleep, but not at all restlessly or uneasily. 
Not at all as if his slumber were disturbed by the 
fact that he was being proved a small impostor and 
that he was not Lord Fauntleroy at all and never 
would be the Earl of Dorincourt. He only turned 
his rosy face more on its side as if to enable the 
old man who stared at it so solemnly to see it 

The handsome, grim old face was ghastly. A 
bitter smile fixed itself upon it. 

" I should refuse to believe a word of it," he 
said, "if it were not such a low, scoundrelly piece 
of business that it becomes quite possible in con- 
nection with the name of my son Bevis. It is quite 
like Bevis. He was always a disgrace to us. Always 
a weak, untruthful, vicious young brute with low 

tastes — my son and heir, Bevis, Lord Fauntleroy. 
The woman is an ignorant, vulgar person, you 

" I am obliged to admit that she can scarcely 
spell her own name," answered the lawyer. She 
is absolutely uneducated and openly mercenary. 
She cares for nothing but the money. She is very 
handsome in a coarse way, but " 

The fastidious old lawyer ceased speaking and 
gave a sort of shudder. 

The veins on the old Earl's forehead stood out 
like purple cords. Something else stood out upon 
it too — cold drops of moisture. He took out his 
handkerchief and swept them away. His smile 
grew even more bitter. 

" And I," he said, " I objected to — to the other 
woman, the mother of this child " (pointing to the 
sleeping form on the sofa) ; " I refused to recognize 
her. And yet she could spell her own name. I 
suppose this is retribution." 

Suddenly he sprang up from his chair and began 
to walk up and down the room. Fierce and terri- 
ble words poured forth from his lips. His rage and 
hatred and cruel disappointment shook him as a 
storm shakes a tree. His violence was something 
dreadful to see, and yet Mr. Havisham noticed that 
at the very worst of his wrath he never seemed 
to forget the little sleeping figure on the yellow 
satin cushions, and that he never once spoke loud 
enough to awaken it. 

" I might have known it,"he said. " They were 
a disgrace to me from their first hour ! I hated 
them both ; and they hated me ! Bevis was the 
worse of the two. I will not believe this yet, though ! 
I will contend against it to the last. But it is like 
Bevis — it is like him ! " 

And then he raged again and asked questions 
about the woman, about her proofs, and pacing 
the room, turned first white and then purple in his 
repressed fury. 

When at last he had learned all there was to be 
told, and knew the worst, Mr. Havisham looked at 
him with a feeling of anxiety. He looked broken 
and haggard and changed. His rages had always 
been bad for him, but this one had been worse than 
the rest because there had been something more 
than rage in it. 

He came slowly back to the sofa, at last, and 
stood near it. 

"If any one had told me I could be fond of a 
child," he said, his harsh voice low and unsteady, 
" I should not have believed them. I always de- 
tested children — my own more than the rest. I am 
fond of this one ; he is fond of me," (with a bitter 
smile.) " I am not popular; I never was. But he 
is fond of me. He never was afraid of me — he 
always trusted me. He would have filled my place 




better than I have filled it. I know that. He 
would have been an honor to the name." 

He bent down and stood a minute or so looking 
at the happy, sleeping face. His shaggy eyebrows 
were knitted fiercely, and yet somehow he did not 

the bright hair back from the forehead, and then 
turned away and rang the bell. 

When the largest footman appeared, he pointed 
to the sofa. 

; Take " — he said, and then his voice changed a 

seem fierce at all. He put up his hand, pushed little — " take Lord Fauntleroy to his room." 

(To be continued, j 


By M. M. D. 

Three velvety, busy, buzzing bees 

Once plunged in a thistle plant up to their knees. 

Alas ! Though plucky and stout of heart, 

They bounded away with an angry start. 

For the thistle 's the touchiest thing that grows ; 

It 's the firework plant — as every one knows. 

And every buzzer should pass it by 

On the day that is known as the Fourth of July. 




By Ripley Hitchcock. 

There was once a boy who thought that he 
could choose his birthday present more wisely than 
could his father and mother. He wanted an "arrow 
rifle " — a useless affair which has long since gone 
to the place where toys which are failures go. 
He was disappointed however. His birthday- 
brought him not an " arrow rifle," but a light, 
jointed fishing-rod. Now this boy had already 
done some fishing with a heavy bamboo pole, or 
with one cut from an alder, jerking the fish out of the 
water, and swinging them over his head. To be 
sure the heavy pole made his arms ache, but his 
new rod, which bent at every touch, seemed to 
him too slender and flimsy to be of any use what- 

I fear he was not very grateful at first, but he 
was properly rebuked when his father took a day 
from professional cares, and opened the lad's eyes to 
the pleasure of fishing with light tackle. When he 
had learned to " cast " flies with his elastic, strong 
rod, without hooking somebody or something not 
meant to be hooked ; when he had seen the beauti- 
ful vermilion-spotted trout flash clear of the water, 
tempted by the flies ; and when he had found that 
he could tire out and land larger fish than he had 
ever caught before, simply by pitting against their 
cunning and strength, skill and patience instead 
of mere brute force, — then there was opened to 
that boy a new world of sport and healthy recre- 
ation. He has never regretted the "arrow rifle"; 
and he now proposes to tell the boys as well as 
the girls who read St. NICHOLAS how to obtain 
something which is within the reach of both, 
the greatest possible pleasure from fishing. 

If one could take a bird's-eye view of our coun- 
try at any time in the summer, he would see boys 
and girls catching all kinds of fish in all kinds of 
ways ; some off the coast in sailboats, tugging at 
bluefish or mackerel, others profiting by St. 
Nicholas's lessons in black-bass fishing, some 
"skittering" for pickerel in New England lakes, 
others trolling for pike in the lakes and rivers of the 
West. But of all the fresh-water game fish there 
is none more beautiful and graceful or more active 
than the trout. 

Any New York boy who has never caught a trout 
should go down to Fulton Market at the opening 
of the trout season, when trout are gathered 
there from all parts of the country. He will 
see "rainbow" trout from the Rocky Mountains, 
their sides iridescent, and stained as if marked by 

a bloody finger. These are being introduced into 
Eastern waters. He will find trout in the blackest 
of mourning robes and others gayly dressed in sil- 
ver tinsel. Sometimes the vermilion spots on the 
side shine like fire ; again they are as dull as if the 


fire had gone out and left only gray ashes. For 
there are several varieties of trout known to natu- 
ralists and traveled fishermen, and even the brook 
trout, called by the formidable name of Salmo 
fontinalis, varies greatly in color and shape in 
different localities. In Arizona, I have caught 
trout which were fairly black. In Dublin Lake in 
New Hampshire, the trout look like bars of pol- 
ished silver as they are drawn up through the water. 
I never saw a more sharply marked contrast than 
that between the trout of two little Maine lakes, 
near the head-waters of the Androscoggin River. 
In one, the trout were long, and as thin as race- 
horses, and their flesh was of a salmon-pink hue ; in 
the other, not half a mile away, the trout were short, 
thick, and almost hump-backed, with darker skins 
and lighter flesh. The first lake had a sandy, grav- 
elly bottom, and the water was clear as crystal ; 
the bottom of the second was muddy, and the 
water dark and turbid. This explained the differ- 
ence in the fish, a difference always existing in 


trout of brooks or lakes under the same conditions. 
In the great Androscoggin Lakes of Maine, the 
trout, which are brook trout, grow to the largest 
size known anywhere. They have been caught 
weighing twelve pounds, and many claimed that 

6 5 6 



lake trout, until the famous naturalist Agassiz decided that, although living in lakes, 
true brook trout. These immense trout have very thick bodies and cruel hooked 
the guides can point out many contrasts between trout from different lakes, 
different parts of the same lake. There are trout nearly as large in the rivers 
Provinces, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Quebec, but these are usually 
and they are quite another variety, being known as sea trout, or Sahno 
adds to the interest of trout-fishing by inducing the angler to ac- 
with what the Natural Histories have to tell him about the various 
Then the differences in one kind teach him to be observant and 
to the habits of the trout. Here the Natural Histories will fail 
lowing trout brooks and tempting the larger trout of lakes, 
the ways and curious moods of this cunning, timid fish, 
be modest, he will often confess himself sadly puzzled ; for 
times more than a match for the fisherman's. And this 
trout-fishing ; for if one had to deal with a fish which 
der any circumstances, and give up the fight as soon 
soon grow very stupid. In trout-fishing, one will 
wind, weather, and water, and learn how to ap- 
how to delude one of the most wary, and how 
To do this it is necessary to have reliable 
rod, reel, line, leaders, flies, and landing- 
one can cast with it easily and persistently, 

they were 
they were 
jaws ; but 
or even from 
of the British 
lighter colored, 
trutta. All this 
quaint himself 
kinds of trout, 
excite a curiosity as 
him. Only by fol 
can he properly study 
And even then, if he 
the trout's wits are some 
adds to the pleasure of 
would bite at any bait, un 
as hooked, the sport would 
study the best conditions of 
proach one of the shyest of fish, 
safely to land one of the pluckiest. 
" tackle," a term which includes 
net. The rod must be so light that 
and yet it must be strong enough to 
breaking, and to tire out large trout. If 
soon be wearied, and if it is too flexible 
it will not hold fish firmly if the angler needs 
attempts to meet these requirements, fly rods 
ash and lancewood,bethabara, greenhcart, cedar, 
snake-wood, shadblow and perhaps twenty other 
experiments in making rods of thin steel tubes, 
made of four or six triangular strips cut from the 
carefully fitted and glued together. Sometimes the 
ener it has six sides. These rods, when they are really 
Indeed, Americans may justly claim to make the finest 
also the finest lines. But I should not advise any of my 
bamboo fly rod, because these rods are very expensive, they 
treatment, and if broken they must go back to the maker to 
rod which I recommend to the boys and girls of St. Nicholas 
butt, and the second joint and tip of lance-wood. It should be 
ten feet and a half in length, and should weigh about seven ounces 
a rod can be obtained from any reliable dealer in any large city, 
able because there are fishing-tackle stores where 
rods nice to look at, but worthless to use. Nearly 
keep what is called an "all around" rod, intended 
for either fly or bait fishing, but this, like most corn- 
is usually unsatisfactory. This, or something like 
probably be shown you if you ask for a boy's rod, so 
is better to tell the dealer or rod-maker exactly what 
you want, and to accept nothing else. If he takes a 
pride in his work and has a reputation to sustain, 
he will interest himself in picking out a rod of sound, 
well-seasoned wood, evenly balanced, elastic, with 
a good action, and a peculiar "kick" in the second 
joint, which is of great service in casting a fly. If 

bend into all manner of curves without 
it is too stiff, the fisherman's arm will 
or withy, it will not cast flies well, and 
to bring a strain upon them. In 
have been made of split bamboo, 
hickory, hornbeam, iron-wood, 
woods, and there have even been 
The split bamboo rods are 
rind of Calcutta bamboo and 
surface is rounded, but oft- 
good, are the best of all. 
rods in the world and 
readers to buy a split 
require very careful 
be repaired. The fly 
is one with an ash 
from ten feet to 
and a half. Such 
emphasize reli- 
one may get 
all dealers 
to be used, 
it, will 
that it 



«<&. *£~M 



some one can help you in making your choice, so 
much the better. Then it will be well to attach a 
reel and line to the rod and try it in actual casting, 
if this is possible ; and when the rod is bent, see 
that the bend is an even curve. The pleasure of 
fly-fishing depends upon the quality of the rod, and 
the choice should therefore be made deliberately 
and wisely. Some fishermen make their own rods, 
and there are dealers who supply materials for 
amateur rod-makers ; but this is a difficult under- 
taking and can not be described here.* I should 
advise any boy to go to a professional maker for 
his first fly rod. 

The "enameled water-proof" lines are the best. 
These are braided from boiled silk, and prepared 
to resist the action of water, which will cause the 
decay of an ordinary line. Of the various sizes, 
which are distinguished by letters, that known as 
F is perhaps most desirable, although either E 
or F will answer the purpose. The line should be 
"level," not tapering, and at least twenty-five 
yards in length. This will be wound upon a 
"click" reel of equal capacity, preferably nickel- 
plated. But this is of less importance than the 

internal construction of the reel, for which you 
should have the maker's guarantee. Now come 
the flies. There are names enough to fill a direc- 
tory, and a greater variety of colors than the 
woods show in autumn. A few flies like the 
" Montreal," " Professor," " Scarlet Ibis," "Coach- 
man, "and "the Hackles," are to be found in almost 
every angler's book. For the rest, it will be well 
to learn, from some experienced angler or intelli- 
gent dealer, the flies best suited to the particu- 
lar waters which you intend to fish. At the 
Rangeley lakes, for example, you will find that 
large, gaudy flies are much used, like the " Par- 
machenee Belle," "Silver and Golden Doctor," and 
" Grizzly King," and there is one local fly called the 
"Katoodle Bug." In the Adirondacks, smaller flies 
of quieter colors are favored. For brook-fishing, 
very small flies of neutral tints are much used ex- 
cept when the water is very dark. A fly-book will 
be needed to contain flics and also leaders. The 
leader is a piece of " silk-worm gut," which should 
be about six feet in length. One end is fastened to 
the line, and the stretcher-fly is made fast at the 
other. One or two other flies, called droppers, are 

* " Fly Rods and Fly Tackle." by Mr. 
much valuable instruction in fly-fishing. 

Vol. XIII.— 42. 

H P. Wells, explains methods of making and repairing rods and other tackle, and gives 

6 5 8 



usually attached at intervals of two feet or more 
along the leader. Before making your choice, the 
leaders should be closely examined to see whether 


any part is frayed or cracked. They can be tested 
by a pull of four or five pounds on a spring 
balance. The leader is used as being less con- 
spicuous than the line in the water, and, therefore, 
less likely to frighten away trout approaching the 
flies. Most leaders are dyed a misty bluish color 
which, it is thought, will escape even the keen 
eyes of the trout. A landing-net, the size and 
strength of which depend upon the fishing-ground, 
completes the list of tackle. 

The next step is to learn how to cast a fly, and 
here practice and the advice of some experienced 
fly-fisherman will be worth more than printed in- 

It is not necessary, however, to wait for summer 
nor for access to water, in order to practice casting. 
A housetop, a dooryard, or even the spacious floor 
of an old-fashioned barn, as the case may be, offers 
just as good a chance for practice as a lake or 
river. When the rod is jointed together, the reel 
attached, and the line passed through the rings 
and beyond the tip about the length of the rod, 
the learner is usually seized with a wild desire to 
flourish rod and line like a whip with a long snap- 
per. This feeling must promptly be suppressed. 
Fly-casting is a very simple movement, and not a 
flourish. The elbow is kept down at the side, the 
forearm moving only a little, and most of the work 
is done by the wrist. Holding the rod by the 
"grip," the part of the butt wound with silk or 
rattan to assist the grasp, one finds that the reel, 
which is just below the "grip," aids in balancing 
the rod. The reel is underneath in casting. After 
hooking a fish, many anglers turn their rods so as 
to bring the reel to the upper side, thus letting 
the strain of the line come upon the rod itself in- 
stead of upon the rings. In holding the "grip," 
the thumb should be extended straight along the 
rod, as this gives an additional "purchase." For 

the first cast, take the end of the line in the left 
hand, and bring the rod upward and backward 
until the line is taut. As you release the line, the 
spring of the rod carries the 
line backward. This is the 
back cast. Then comes an 
instant's pause, while the line 
straightens itself out behind, 
and then, with a firm motion 
of the wrist, helped a little by 
the forearm, the rod is thrown 
forward, and the line flies easily 
out in front. Begin with a line 
once or once-and-a-half as long 
as the rod, and lengthen it out 
by degrees. The main points 
to be remembered are : to keep 
the elbow at the side, to train 
the wrist, to move the rod not too far forward or 
back, always to wait until the line is straight be- 
hind on the back cast, and to make sure that in this 
the line falls no lower than your head, a process 
which it will take time to accomplish. There is 
no more awkward fault than that of whipping 
a rod down to a level with the horizon before and 
behind, and swishing the flies through the air 
until some of them are snapped off. 

When the learner becomes accustomed to hand- 
ling his rod, he must try to perfect himself in two 
matters of great importance — accuracy and deli- 
cacy. Place a small piece of paper fifteen or twenty 
feet away, and aim at making the knot in the end of 
the line fall easily and quietly upon it. Your efforts 
will be aided if you will raise the point of the rod a 
trifle, just as the forward impulse of the line is 
spent, and the line itself is straightened in the air 
for an instant in front. This is a novel kind of 
target-shooting, but its usefulness will be realized 
when the angler finds it necessary to drop his flies 
so lightly just over the head of some particularly 
wary trout, that the fish, although too shy or lazy 
to move a yard, will be persuaded that some 
tempting natural flies have foolishly settled on 
the water just within reach of his jaws. By 
practice of this kind, which is an excellent form of 
light exercise in itself, any boy or girl can learn a 
very fascinating art. It is not necessary to make 
very long casts. At fly-casting tournaments in 
Central Park, casts have been made of about 
ninety feet, but in actual fishing a third of that dis- 
tance is usually sufficient. Never cast more line 
than you can conveniently and safely handle. 

And now that we are ready to go a-fishing, the 
question arises," Where shall we go?" The cold, 
bitter weather common in early April is not favor- 
able to fishermen or fish. When May sunshine 
brings the leaves out on the trees, and fields are 


6 59 

green and skies are blue, then Long Island may 
well tempt any New York boy who has a holiday 
to spend in fly-fishing. Years ago. any Long 
Island water could be fished without question, but 
now nearly all the Long Island brooks and ponds 
are " preserved,"— that is, kept for personal use by 
clubs or private owners. A boy who has a friend or 
relative among the owners of these preserves, or can 
hire a fishing privilege, can enjoy trout-fishing within 
a journey of two or three hours from his New York 
home. Within a few hours' ride, also, are trout 
streams in the southern counties of New York State 
and in Pennsylvania, although the former are so 

often visited that the fish have not time to growlarge. 
The New England boy finds trout brooks in western 
Connecticut, in northern Massachusetts, and in the 
Cape Cod region, in northern New Hampshire 
and Vermont, and especially in Maine. Once, al- 
most every stream and lake in New England con- 
tained trout. But forests were cut down, and 
some of the streams dwindled until they went dry 
in summer. Saw-mills were built, the streams were 
dammed up so as to be impassable for trout, and 
the trout eggs were buried under sawdust. Manu- 
factories have poisoned the water of some rivers 
and others have been literallv " fished drv." The 




trout of any brook near a large New England 
town have a very poor chance of long life. All 
this is discouraging enough, but yet there are trout 
to be caught, as every New England boy knows. 

The most famous fishing-places in the East are 
the Rangeley Lakes in Maine and the Adirondacks 
in New York. About the third week of May the 
ice goes out of the great chain of lakes forming 
the head-waters of the Androscoggin River in 
Maine. Then the rcd-shirted river-drivers come 
down with "drives" of logs, which dash through 
the sluiceways of immense dams between the dif- 
ferent lakes. And while the brown pine trunks are 
still shooting through the dams, fishermen begin 
to gather from all parts of the country, for in the 
clear cold water of these lakes the trout, feeding 
upon myriads of minnows, grow to be the giants of 
their race. I can wish no better piscatorial fortune 
for the children of St. Nicholas than a visit to 
Maine with father or brother, and the capture of 
one of these large trout. I must confess, however, 
that the large trout are not to be depended upon ; 
but there are small fish always to be caught in the 
little lakes and brooks of the region, and there are 


pleasant forest camps with cheerful fires blazing in 
great stone fireplaces. The host of one of these 
camps was for a long time a hunter and guide, 
and every winter he lectures before Boston school- 
boys, dressed in his hunter's garb, and tells them 

about trapping and the adventures of life in the 

If one can continue further into the North-east, 
better fishing can be found in New Brunswick and 
Quebec than in Maine, although the trout of the 
Provinces are sea trout, a distinction which does 
not seem to me important. The trout of the Adi- 
rondacks are much smaller than those of Maine or 
New Brunswick, and now that the Adirondack 
country is overrun with visitors, one must go back 
some distance into the woods to find good sport. 
South of Pennsylvania, there is trout-fishing in the 
mountain streams of West Virginia and North 
Carolina. To the west, northern Michigan tempts 
the angler, and still further north are the large 
trout of the Nepigon river which flows into Lake 
Superior. The States along the Mississippi Val- 
ley are sadly deficient in trout, but a great deal 
can be done with black bass, as Mr. Maurice 
Thompson has told you. Trout abound all along 
the Rocky Mountains. There are the lusty five- 
pounders of the Snake River in Idaho, the rainbow 
trout of California, found also, I think, in Colorado, 
and the dusky fish of New Mexico and Arizona. 
I do not expect that many of 
St. Nicholas's readers will visit 
these remote fishing-places, but 
between the three corners of the 
continent in which I have caught 
trout — Quebec, Washington Ter- 
ritory, and Arizona — there are so 
many chances for trout-fishing, that 
very few need fail to enjoy this most 
delightful of outdoor sports. 

The best month for fly-fishing is 
June, and the best weather a light 
southerly or southwesterly breeze 
and a slightly overcast sky. Morn- 
ing or evening is the best time. 
The worst is the middle of an in- 
tensely hot, bright, still day. It is 
usually thought that a change in 
the weather makes trout more 
active. Very high or very low 
water is undesirable. Yet when 
all the conditions seem perfect, 
one may cast over a whole school 
of trout without inducing them to 
stir a fin ; and on the other hand, 
when the weather is most unfavor- 
able and when the fish are gorged 
with food, they will, sometimes, 
fairly hustle one another in their eagerness to get 
the flies. On one hot July noon, the air and water 
around my boat were alive with trout for half an 
hour, when they stopped rising as suddenly as they 
had begun, without any apparent reason in one 



case or the other. Within two forenoon hours, I 
once caught twenty-five pounds of trout at the 
mouth of a brook emptying into one of the Ran- 
geley lakes. Early next morning, I was rowed to 
the same spot and found only one solitary trout. 
On another occasion. I landed a five-pound and a 
three-pound trout from a pool in a Canadian river, 
without undulv disturbing the water; but although 

course, at the butt, but communicated along rod 
and line. The movement "strikes" the hook into 
the fish. One can not be too quick in striking, 
but if too much force be used, the rod may be 
snapped at the second joint. Yet that is not the 
way in which rods are most frequently broken. If 
you have drawn in your flies so closely that you can 
not readily recover them, and your rod is pointing 


the pool contained several other fish, including 
one estimated to weigh over five pounds, not 
another trout could be induced to look at any fly 
in my book. Trout are very fickle and changeable, 
and the ingenuity sometimes required to coax them 
to rise adds as much zest to the sport as the sus- 
pense and excitement of hooking and landing them. 
But when the trout does rise, what do you sup- 
pose he thinks ? Does he really believe that the 
curious creature with a barbed tail hovering over 
his head is a natural fly? I doubt it. The flies 
ordinarily used would drive an entomologist to 
distraction. The great scarlet and white and yel- 
low flics which have caused so many Rangeley lake 
trout to come to grief are, I fancy, unlike any living 
insect in that region, or anywhere else. The trout 
sees something moving on the water, and as expe- 
rience has taught him that such fluttering objects 
are usually good to eat, his weakness for live food 
tempts him to pounce upon it without stopping to 
reason out the matter. But when he finds that 
this deceitful fly is entirely tasteless, he will drop 
it at once, unless the fisherman is prompt in 
"striking." This means a quick upward move- 
ment of the tip of the rod, a motion imparted, of 

nearly straight upward, even a gentle attempt to 
strike a small fish is likely to break a rod. Once, 
I was fishing with a heavy rod from a raft which 
was drifting across a Canadian lake. The wind 
was so strong that I was obliged to cast with it, and 
then the raft rapidly drifted down upon my flies. 
A trout weighing not a quarter of a pound rose 
when my rod was nearly perpendicular, and the 
flies were close before me ; instinctively I struck. 
The reward of my carelessness was that the rod, 
which would have landed a ten-pound fish, was 
cleanly broken into two pieces. Never draw the 
flies so near you that you have not safe and com- 
plete control of your rod, either for the back cast 
or for a strike. 

The importance of the high back cast of which I 
have spoken, will be especially appreciated by 
St. Nicholas's boys and girls, for most of their 
trout-fishing will probably be done upon brooks 
where a low back cast would involve entanglement 
in grass or bushes. In brook-fishing it is usually 
necessary to use a comparatively short line, and 
one must learn to make under-hand casts, — that is, 
with the rod down to a horizontal level on either 
side, instead of being upright, something easily 




learned after one can cast properly over-hand. Of 
course my readers will see that they must keep 
themselves and their shadows out of the sight of 
the timid trout. When a fish is hooked, let him 
run out the reel if he is large enough, unless he 
makes for stumps or brush where the line may get 
entangled. Then as much of a strain must be 
brought to bear upon him as the tackle will with- 
stand ; and always reel in line when it is possible. 
The line should never be slack. If the trout will 
not rise at first, change your flies and try the old 
rule of looking closely at the insects which hover 
over the water and selecting a fly from your book 
that imitates those insects as nearly as possible. 
The best general rule is to use small dark flies in 

bright, clear water, and larger bright flies in dark 
or turbid water. I need hardly say that fish are 

not to be lifted out of the water with a fly-rod. Let 
the trout run and struggle until the strain of the 
rod tires. him out so that he can be easily drawn 
within reach and lifted out with the landing-net. 

So you see that in fly-fishing fur trout you learn 
a very fascinating art, which can be practiced 
among the most delightful of outdoor surround- 
ings in the pleasantest months of the year. You 
will learn much more than books can tell you 
about the habits and curious ways of a fish which 
the most experienced anglers have considered for 
hundreds of years" as, next to the salmon, their 
most worthy game. You will learn patience, per- 
severance, and all manner of practical lessons on 
trout streams, including the tying of knots and the 
repairing of rods. And the sunshine, the fragrance 
of flowery meadows, and the cool breath of the 
woods will give you a health which can not be 
found indoors. But let me urge upon you to 
remember that the true sportsman is always gener- 
ous in his treatment of the noble fish which he 
pursues. He will never catch trout out of sea- 
son. He will never kill more trout than can 
be made use of, nor will he ever kill them by unfair 
means. And he will never catch tiny troutlings, 
too small to afford sport, lest he should exhaust 
the streams, but he will carefully restore to the 
water any trout which are not at least six inches 
long. St. Nicholas's fly-fishers who meet the 
gallant trout on fair and even terms will surely 
give the beautiful fish honorable treatment. 

And when you go a-fishing, bearing these words 
in mind, may you be rewarded by baskets well 
filled with trout of noble size. 


By Grace Denio Litchfield. 

I AM only a plain little daisy-flower, There 's many a gladsomer meadow than mine, 

Sprung up at hap-hazard 'neath sunshine and Where greener trees shelter and softer suns shine 

shower, For others than me ; but how can I repine, 

To live out as I may my life's poor little hour. For who is so happy as I ? 

Yet who is so happy as I ? 

There 's a brook I can't see by that far-away beech, 

And a bird that wont whistle, for all I beseech, 
Oh, the days they bum hot, and the nights they And stars are up yonder, quite out of my reach, 

blow cold, But who is so happy as I ? 

And the shadows and rains, — true they fall, 

manifold : I just look up at Fate with my brave little face, 

But my dress is all white, and my heart is pure I stir from my post in no possible case, 

trold, And I keep my dress clean, my gold heart in 

And who is so happy as 1 ? its place, 

And who is so happy as I ? 




[Att Historical Biography.} 

By Horace E. Scuddkr. 

Chapter XVII. 


THE winter of 1777 passed with little righting; 
and when the spring opened, Washington used his 
army so adroitly as to prevent the British from 
moving on Philadelphia, and finally crowded them 
out of New Jersey altogether. That summer, how- 
ever, was an anxious one, for there was great un- 
certainty as to the plans of the enemy ; and when 
at last a formidable British army appeared in the 
Chesapeake, whither it had been transported by 
sea, Washington hurried his forces to meet it, and 
fought the battle of Brandywine, in which he met 
with a severe loss. He retrieved his fortune in part 
by a brilliant attack on the enemy at Germantown, 
and then retired to Valley Forge, in Pennsylvania, 
where he went into winter quarters ; while the 
British army was comfortably established in Phila- 

The defeat of Burgoyne by Gates, at Saratoga, 
in the summer and Washington's splendid attack 
at Germantown had made 
a profound impression in 
Europe, and are counted 
as having turned the scale 
in favor of an alliance with 
the United States on the 
part of France. But when 
the winter shut down on 
the American army, no 
such good cheer encour- 
aged it. That winter of 
1778 was the most terrible 
ordeal which the army 
endured, and one has but 
to read of the sufferings 
of the soldiers to learn at 
how great a cost independ- 
ence was bought. It is 
worth while to tell again 
the familiar story, because 

the leader of the army himself shared the want 
and privation of the men. To read of Valley Forge 
is to read of Washington. 

The place was chosen for winter quarters be- 
cause of its position. It was equally distant with 
Philadelphia from the Brandywine and from the 

ferry across the Delaware into New Jersey. It 
was too far from Philadelphia lo be in peril from 
attack, and yet it was so near that the Amer- 
ican army could, if opportunity offered, descend 
quickly on the city. Then it was so protected by 
hills and streams that the addition of a few lines 
of fortification made it very secure. 

But there was no town at Valley Forge, and it 
became necessary to provide some shelter for the 
soldiers other than the canvas tents which served in 
the field in summer. It was the middle of December 
when the army began preparations for the winter, 
and Washington gave directions for the building 
of the little village. The men were divided into 
parties of twelve, each party to build a hut to ac- 
commodate that number ; and in order to stimulate 
the men. Washington promised a reward of twelve 
dollars to the party in each regiment which fin- 
ished its hut first and most satisfactorily. And as 
there was some difficulty in getting boards, he 
offered a hundred dollars to any officer or soldier 
who should invent some substitute which would be 
as cheap as boards and as quickly provided. 


Each hut was to be fourteen feet by sixteen, the 
sides, ends, and roof to be made of logs, and the 
sides made tight with clay. There was to be a 
fireplace in the rear of each hut, built of wood, 
but lined with clay eighteen inches thick. The 
walls were to be six and a half feet high. Huts 




were also to be provided for the officers, and to be 
placed in the rear of those occupied by the troops. 
All these were to be regularly arranged in streets. 
A visitor to the camp when the huts were being 
built, wrote of the army ; " They appear to me like 
a family of beavers, every one busy ; some carry- 
ing logs, others mud, and the rest plastering them 
together." It was bitterly cold, and for a month 
the men were at work, making ready for the 

But in what sort of condition were the men them- 
selves when they began this work ? Here is a 
picture of one of those men on his way to Valley 
Forge: "His bare feet peep through his worn- 
out shoes, his legs nearly naked from the tattered 
remains of an only pair of stockings, his breeches 
not enough to cover his nakedness, his shirt hang- 
ing in strings, his hair disheveled, his face wan 
and thin, his look hungry, his whole appearance 
that of a man forsaken and neglected." And the 
snow was falling ! This was one of the privates. 
The officers were scarcely better off. One was 
wrapped "in a sort of dressing-gown made of an 
old blanket or woolen bed-cover." The uniforms 
were torn and ragged ; the guns were rusty ; a 
few only had bayonets ; the soldiers carried their 
powder in tin boxes and cow-horns. 

To explain why this army was so poor and forlorn, 
would be to tell a long story. It may be summed 
up briefly in these words — the army was not taken 
care of because there was no country to take care 
of it. There were thirteen States, and each of 
these States sent troops into the field, but all the 
States were jealous of one another. There was 
a Congress, which undertook to direct the war, 
but all the members of Congress, coming from the 
several States, were jealous of one another. They 
were agreed on only one thing — that it was not 
prudent to give the army too much power. It is 
true that they had once given Washington large 
authority, but they had given it only for a short 
period. They were very much afraid that some- 
how the army would rule the country, and yet 
they were trying to free the country from the 
rule of England. But when they talked about free- 
ing the country, each man thought only of his 
own State. The first fervor with which they 
had talked about a common country had died 
away ; there were some very selfish men in Con- 
gress, who could not be patriotic enough to think 
of the whole country. 

The truth is, it takes a long time for the people 
of a country to come to feel that they have a coun- 
try. Up to the time of the war for independence, 
the people in America did not care much for one 
another or for America. They had really been 
preparing to be a nation, but they did not know it. 

They were angry with Great Britain, and they 
knew they had been wronged. They were there- 
fore ready to fight ; but it does not require so 
much courage to fight as to endure suffering and 
to be patient. 

So it was that the people of America who were 
most conscious that they were Americans were the 
men who were in the army, and their wives and 
mothers and sisters at home. All these were 
making sacrifices for their country and so learning 
to love it. The men in the army came from dif- 
ferent States, and there was a great deal of State 
feeling among them; but, after all, they belonged 
to one army, the continental army, and they 
had much more in common than they had sepa- 
rately. Especially they had a great leader who 
made no distinction between Virginians and New 
England men. Washington felt keenly all the 
lack of confidence which Congress showed. He 
saw that the spirit in Congress was one which kept 
the people divided, while the spirit at Valley Forge 
kept the people united, and he wrote reproachfully 
to Congress : 

"If we would pursue a right system of policy, in my opinion, . . . 
we should all, Congress and army, be considered as one people, 
embarked in one cause, in one interest; acting on the same princi- 
ple, and to the same end. The distinction, the jealousies set up, or 
perhaps only incautiously let out, can answer not a single good pur- 
pose. . . . Noorder of men in thethirteen States has paidamore sacred 
regard to the proceedings of Congress than the army ; for without 
arrogance or the smallest deviation from truth it may be said, that 
no history now extant can furnish an instance of an army's suffering 
such uncommon hardships as ours has done, and bearing them with 
the same patience and fortitude. To see men, without clothes to 
cover them, without blankets to lie on, without shoes (for the want 
of which their marches might be traced by the blood from their 
feet), and almost as often without provisions as with them, march- 
ing through the frost and snow, and at Christmas taking up their 
winter quarters within a day's march of the enemy, without a 
house or hut to cover them, till they could be built, and submitting 
without a murmur, is a proof of patience and obedience, which, in 
my opinion, can scarce be paralleled." 

The horses died of starvation, and the men 
harnessed themselves to trucks and sleds, hauling 
wood and provisions from storehouse to hut. At 
one time there was not a ration in camp. Wash- 
ington seized the peril with a strong hand and com- 
pelled the people in the country about, who had 
been selling to the British army at Philadelphia, 
to give up their stores to the patriots at Valley 

Meanwhile, the wives of the officers came to the 
camp, and these brave women gave of their cheer 
to its dreary life. Mrs. Washington was there 
with her husband. " The General's apartment is 
very small," she wrote to a friend ; "he has had 
a log cabin built to dine in, which has made our 
quarters much more tolerable than they were at 

The officers and their wives came together and 


66 5 

told stories, perhaps over a plate of hickory nuts, 
which, weareinformed, furnished General Washing- 
ton's dessert. The General was cheerful in the little 
society ; but his one thought was how to keep 
the brave company of men alive and prepare 
them for what lay before them. The house where 
he had his quarters was a farmhouse belonging 
to a quaker, Mr. Potts, who has said that one day 
when strolling up the creek, away from the camp, 
he heard a deep, quiet voice a little way off. He 
went nearer, and saw Washington's horse tied to 
a sapling. Hard by, in the thicket, was Washing- 
ton on his knees, praying earnestly. 

company of one hundred and twenty men, whom 
he drilled thoroughly ; these became the models 
for others, and so the whole camp was turned into 
a military school. 

The prospect grew brighter and brighter, until 
on the 4th of May, late at night, a messenger rode 
into camp with dispatches from Congress. Wash- 
ington opened them, and his heart must have 
leaped for joy as he read that an alliance had been 
formed between France and the United States. 
Two days later, the army celebrated the event. 
The chaplains of the several regiments read the 
intelligence and then offered up thanksgiving to 


At the end of February, light began to break. 
The terrible winter was passing away, though 
the army was still in wretched state. But there 
came to camp, a volunteer, Baron Steuben, who 
had been trained in the best armies of Europe. 
In him Washington had, what he greatly needed, 
an excellent drill-master. He made him Inspector 
of the army, and soon, as if by magic, the men 
changed from slouching, careless fellows into erect, 
orderly soldiers. The Baron began with a picked 

God. Guns were fired, and there was a public 
dinner in honor of Washington and his generals. 
There had been shouts for the King of France and 
for the American States ; but when Washington 
took his leave, "there was," says an officer who 
was present, universal applause, "with loud huzzas, 
which continued till he had proceeded a quarter of 
a mile, during which time there were a thousand 
hats tossed in the air. His excellency turned 
round with his retinue, and huzzaed several times." 




Chapter XVIII. 


THERE is no man so high but some will always 
be found who wish to pull him down. Washing- 
ton was no exception to this rule. His men wor- 
shiped him ; the people had confidence in him ; 
the officers nearest to him, and especially those 
who formed a part of his military family, were 
warmly attached to him ; but in Congress there 
were men who violently opposed him, and there 
were certain generals who not only envied him but 
were ready to seize any opportunity which might 
offer to belittle him and to place one of their own 
number in his place. The chief men who were 
engaged in this business were Generals Conway, 
Mifflin, and Gates, and from the prominent position 
taken in the affair by the first-named officer, the 
intrigue against Washington goes by the name of 
the Conway Cabal. A " cabal " is a secret com- 
bination against a person with the object of his 
hurt or injury. 

It is not easy to say just how or when this cabal 
first showed itself. Conway was a young brigadier- 
general, very conceited and impudent. Mifflin 
had been Quartermaster-general, but had resigned. 
He had been early in the service and was in 
Cambridge with Washington, but had long been 
secretly hostile to him. Gates, who had been 
Washington's companion in Virginia, was an am- 
bitious man who never lost an opportunity of look- 
ing after his own interest, and had been especially 
fortunate in being appointed to the command of the 
northern army just as it achieved the famous vic- 
tory over Burgoyne. 

The defeat at Brandywine, the failure to make 
Germantown a great success, and the occupation 
of Philadelphia by the British troops, while the 
American army was suffering at Valley Forge — 
all this seemed to many a sorry story compared 
with the brilliant victory at Saratoga. There 
had always been those who thought Washington 
slow and cautious. John Adams was one of these, 
and he expressed himself as heartily glad " that 
the glory of turning the tide of arms was not im- 
mediately due to the commander-in-chief." Others 
shook their heads and said that the people of 
America had been guilty of idolatry by making a 
man their god; and that, besides, the army would 
become dangerous to the liberties of the people if 
it were allowed to be so influenced by one man. 

Conway was the foremost of these critics. " No 
man was more a gentleman than General Wash- 
ington, or appeared to more advantage at his 
table, or in the usual intercourse of life," he would 
say ; then he would give his shoulders a shrug, 

and look around and add, " but as to his talents 
for the command of an army, they were miserable 

" Gates was the general ! " Conway said. " There 
was a man who could fight, and win victories ! " 

Gates himself was in a mood to believe it. He 
had been so intoxicated by his success against Bur- 
goyne that he thought himself the man of the day, 
and quite forgot to send a report of the action 
to his commander-in-chief. Washington rebuked 
him in a letter which was severe in its quiet tone. 
He congratulated Gates on his great success, and 
added, "At the same time, 1 can not but regret 
that a matter of such magnitude, and so interest- 
ing to our general operations, should have reached 
me by report only ; or through the channel of let- 
ters not bearing that authenticity which the im- 
portance of it required, and which it would have 
received by a line over your signature stating the 
simple fact." 

Gates may have winced under the rebuke, but 
he was then listening to Conway's flattery, and 
that was more agreeable to him. Conway, on his 
part, found Gates a convenient man to set up as a 
rival to Washington. He himself did not aspire 
to be commander-in-chief, though he would have 
had no doubt as to his capacity. Washington knew 
him well. " His merit as an officer," wrote the 
Commander-in-chief, " and his importance in 
this army exist more in his own imagination 
than in reality. For it is a maxim with him 
to leave no service of his own untold, nor to 
want anything which is to be obtained by im- 
portunity." Conway thought Gates was the rising 
man, and he meant to rise with him. He filled 
his ear with things which he thought would 
please him, and among other letters wrote him 
one in which these words occurred : " Heaven 
has determined to save your country, or a weak 
general and bad counselors would have ruined it." 

Now Gates was foolish enough to show this let- 
ter to Wilkinson, one of his aids, and Wilkinson 
repeated it to an aid of Lord Stirling, one of 
Washington's generals, and Lord Stirling at once 
sat down and wrote it off to Washington. There- 
upon Washington, who knew Conway too well to 
waste any words upon him, sat down and wrote 
him this letter : 

" Sir, — A letter which I received last night contained the follow- 
ing paragraph : 

" ' In a letter from General Conway to General Gates he says: 
Heaven has determined to save your country, or a weak general and 
bad counselors would have ruined it.' 

" I am. Sir. your humble servant, 

"George Washington." 

That was all, but it was quite enough to throw 
Conway and Gates and Mifflin into a panic. How 
did Washington get hold of the sentence? Had 



he seen any other letters ? How much did he 
know ? In point of fact, that was all that Washing- 
ton had seen. He had a contempt for Conway. 
He knew of Mifflin's hostility and that Gates was 
now cool to him; but he did not suspect Gates of 
any intrigue, and he supposed for a while that 
Wilkinson's message had been intended only to 
warn him of Conway's evil mind. 

Gates was greatly perplexed to know what to do, 
but he finally wrote to Washington as if there were 
some wretch who had been stealing letters and 
might be discovering the secrets of the American 
leaders. He begged Washington to help him find 
the rascal. Washington replied, giving him the 
exact manner in which the letter came into his 
hands, and then closed with a few sentences that 
showed Gates clearly that he had lost the confi- 
dence of his commander-in-chief. 

That particular occasion passed, but presently 
the cabal showed its head again, this time working 
through Congress. It secured the appointment 
of a Board of War, with Gates at the head, and a 
majority of the members from men who were hos- 
tile to Washington. Now, they thought, Washing- 
ton will resign, and to help matters on they spread 
the report that Washington was about to resign. 
The general checkmated them at once by a letter 
to a friend, in which he wrote : 

" To report a design of this kind is among the arts which those 
who are endeavoring to effect a change, are practicing to bring it to 
pass. . . . While the public are satisfied with my endeavors, I mean 
not to shrink from the cause. But the moment her voice, not that 
of faction, calls upon me to resign, I shall do it with as much pleas- 
ure as ever the wearied traveler retired to rest." 

The cabal was not yet defeated. It had failed 
by roundabout methods. It looked about in Con- 
gress and counted the disaffected to see if it would 
be possible to get a majority vote in favor of a 
motion to arrest the commander-in-chief. So at 
least the story runs which, from its nature, would 
not be found in any record, but was whispered 
from one man to another. The day came when the 
motion was to be tried ; the conspiracy leaked out, 
and Washington's friends bestirred themselves. 
They needed one more vote. They sent post-haste 
for one of their number, Gouverneur Morris, who 
was absent in camp : but they feared they could 
not get him in time. In their extremity, they went 
to William Duer, a member from New York, who 
was dangerously ill. Duer sent for his doctor. 

" Doctor," he asked, " can I be carried to Con- 
gress ? " 

" Yes, but at the risk of your life," replied the 

" Do you mean that I should expire before 
reaching the place?" earnestly inquired the patient. 

"No," came the answer; "but I would not 
answer for your leaving it alive." 

" Very well, sir. You have done your duty and 
I will do mine ! " exclaimed Duer. " Prepare a 
litter for me ; if you will not, somebody else will, 
but 1 prefer your aid." 

The demand was in earnest, and Duer had 
already started when it was announced that Morris 
had returned and that he would not be needed. 
Morris had come direct from the camp with the 
latest news of what was going on there. His vote 
would make it impossible for the enemies of Wash- 
ington to carry their point ; their opportunity was 
lost, and they never recovered it. 

It was not the end of the cabal, however. They 
still cherished their hostility to Washington, and 
they sought to injure him where he would feel the 
wound most keenly. They tried to win from him 
the young Marquis de La Fayette, who had come 
from France to join the American army, and 
whom Washington had taken to his heart. La 
Fayette was ambitious and enthusiastic. Conway, 
who had been in France, did his best to attach 
himself to the young Frenchman, but he betrayed 
his hatred of Washington, and that was enough to 
estrange La Fayette. Then a winter campaign in 
Canada was planned, and the cabal intrigued to 
have La Fayette appointed to command it. It was 
argued that as a Frenchman he would have an 
influence over the French Canadians. But the 
plotters hoped that, away from Washington, the 
young marquis could be more easily worked upon, 
and it was intended that Conway should be his 
second in command. 

Of course, in contriving this plan, Washington 
was not consulted ; but the moment La Fayette was 
approached, he appealed to Washington for advice. 
Washington saw through the device, but he at 
once said, " I would rather it should be you than 
another." La Fayette insisted on Kalb being second 
in command instead of Conway, whom he disliked 
and distrusted. Congress was in session at York, 
and thither La Fayette went to receive his orders. 
Gates, who spent much of his time in the neigh- 
borhood of Congress, seeking to influence the 
members, was there, and La Fayette was at once 
invited to join him and his friends at dinner. The 
talk ran freely, and great things were promised of 
the Canada expedition, but not a word was said 
about Washington. La Fayette listened and noticed. 
He thought of the contrast between the meager 
fare and the sacrifices at Valley Forge, and this 
feast at which he was a guest. He watched his op- 
portunity, and near the end of the dinner, he said: 

" I have a toast to propose. There is one health, 
gentlemen, which we have not yet drunk. I have 
the honor to propose it to you : The Commander- 
in-chief of the armies of the United States! " 

It was a challenge which no one dared openly 




to take up, but there was an end to the good spirits 
of the company. La Fayette had shown his colors, 
and he was let alone after that. Indeed, the Canada 
expedition never was undertaken, for the men who 
were urging it were not in earnest about anything 
but diminishing the honor of Washington. It is 
the nature of cabals and intrigues that they flour- 
ish in the dark. They can not bear the light. 
As soon as these hostile intentions began to reach 
the ears of the public, great was the indignation 
aroused, and one after another of the conspirators 
made haste to disown any evil purpose. Gates 
and Mifflin each publicly avowed their entire con- 
fidence in Washington, and Conway, who had 
fought a duel and supposed himself to be dying, 
made a humble apology. The cabal melted 
away, leaving Washington more secure than ever 
in the confidence of men — all the more secure 
that he did not lower himself by attempting the 
same arts against his traducers. When Conway 
was uttering his libels behind his back, Washing- 
ton was openly declaring his judgment of Conway ; 
and throughout the whole affair, Washington kept 
his hands clean, and went his way with a manly 
disregard of his enemies. 

Chapter XIX. 


THE news of the French alliance, and conse- 
quent war between France and England, com- 
pelled the English to leave Philadelphia. They 
had taken their ease there during the winter, while 
hardships and Steuben's drilling and Wash- 
ington's unflagging zeal had made the American 
army at Valley Forge strong and determined. A 
French fleet might at any time sail up the Dela- 
ware, and with the American army in the rear, 
Philadelphia would be a hard place to hold. So 
General Howe turned his command over to Gen- 
eral Clinton, and went home to England, and 
General Clinton set about marching his army 
across New Jersey to New York. 

The moment the troops left Philadelphia, armed 
men sprang up all over New Jersey to contest their 
passage, and Washington set his army in motion, 
following close upon the heels of the enemy, who 
were making for Staten Island. There was a 
question whether they should attack the British 
and bring on a general engagement, or only fol- 
low them and vex them. The generals on whom 
Washington most relied, Greene, La Fayette, and 
Wayne, all good fighters, urged that it would be 
a shame to let the enemy leave New Jersey with- 
out a severe punishment. The majority of gen- 
erals in the council, however, strongly opposed 

the plan of giving battle. They said that the 
French alliance would undoubtedly put an end to 
the war at once. Why, then, risk life and suc- 
cess ? The British army, moreover, was strong and 
well equipped. 

The most strenuous opponent of the fighting 
plan was General Charles Lee. When he was left 
in command of a body of troops at the time of 
Washington's crossing the Hudson river more than 
a year before, his orders were to hold himself in 
readiness to join Washington at any time. In his 
march across New Jersey, Washington had re- 
peatedly sent for Lee, but Lee had delayed in an 
unaccountable manner, and finally was himself 
surprised by a company of dragoons, and taken 
captive. For a year he had been held a prisoner, 
and only lately had been released on exchange. 
He had returned to the army while the cabal 
against Washington was going on, and had taken 
part in it, for he always felt that he ought to be 
first and Washington second. He was second in 
command now, and his opinion had great weight. 
He was a trained soldier, and besides, in his long 
captivity he had become well acquainted with 
General Clinton, and he professed to know well 
the condition and temper of the British officers. 

Washington thus found himself unsupported by 
a majority of his officers. But he had no doubt in 
his own mind that the policy of attack was a sound 
one. All had agreed that it was well to harass 
the enemy ; he therefore ordered La Fayette with a 
large division to fall upon the enemy at an exposed 
point. He thought it not unlikely that this would 
bring on a general action, and he disposed his forces 
so as to be ready for such an emergency. He gave 
the command to La Fayette, because Lee had dis- 
approved the plan ; but after La Fayette had set 
out, Lee came to Washington and declared that La 
Fayette's division was so large as to make it almost 
an independent army, and that therefore he would 
like to change his mind and take command. It 
never would do to have his junior in such au- 

Here was a dilemma. Washington could not 
recall La Fayette. He wished to make use of Lee; 
so he gave Lee two additional brigades, sent him 
forward to join La Fayette, when, as his senior, he 
would of course command the entire force ; and at 
the same time he notified La Fayette of what he had 
done, trusting to his sincere devotion to the cause 
in such an emergency. 

When Clinton found that a large force was close 
upon him, he took up his position at Monmouth 
Court House, now Freehold, New Jersey and pre- 
pared to meet the Americans. Washington knew 
Clinton's movements and sent word to Lee at once 
to attack the British, unless there should be very 



powerful reasons to the contrary ; adding that he 
himself was bringing up the rest of the army. Lee 
had joined La Fayette and was now in command of 
the advance. La Fayette was eager to move upon 
the enemy. 

" You do not know British soldiers," said Lee ; 
" we can not stand against them. We shall cer- 
tainly be driven back at first, and we must be 

" Perhaps so," said La Fayette. " But we have 
beaten British soldiers, and we can do it again." 

Soon after, one of Washington's aids appeared 
for intelligence, and La Fayette, in despair at Lee's 

dashed forward. After him flew the officers who 
had been riding by his side, but they could not 
overtake him. His horse, covered with foam, shot 
down the road over a bridge and up the hill 
beyond. The retreating column saw him come. 
The men knew him ; they stopped ; the) made 
way for the splendid-looking man, as he, their 
leader, rode headlong into the midst of them. Lee 
was there, ordering the retreat, and Washington 
drew his rein as he came upon him. A moment 
of terrible silence — then Washington burst out, his 
eyes flashing: 

" What, sir, is the meaning" of this ? " 



inaction, sent the messenger to urge Washington 
to come at once to the front ; that he was 
needed. Washington was already on the way, 
before the messenger reached him, when he was 
met by a little fifer boy, who cried out : 

" They are all coming this way, your honor." 

"Who are coming, my little man?" asked 
General Knox, who was riding by Washington. 

" Why, our boys, your honor, our boys, and the 
British right after them." 

" Impossible! " exclaimed Washington, and he 
galloped to a hill just ahead. To his amazement 
and dismay, he saw his men retreating. He lost 
not an instant, but, putting spurs to his horse, 

" Sir, sir," stammered Lee. 

" I desire to know, sir, the meaning of this dis- 
order and confusion ? " 

Lee, enraged now by Washington's towering 
passion, made an angry reply. He declared that 
the whole affair was against his opinion. 

" You are a poltroon ! " flashed back Washing- 
ton, with an oath. " Whatever your opinion may 
have been, I expected my orders to be obeyed." 

" These men can not face the British grena- 
diers," answered Lee. 

"They can do it, and they shall ! " exclaimed 
Washington, galloping oft" to survey the ground. 
Presently he came back ; his wrath had gone clown 




in the presence of the peril to the army. He would 
waste no strength in cursing Lee. 

"Will you retain the command here, or shall 
I?" he asked. " If you will, 1 will return to the 
main body and have it formed on the next height." 

" It is equal to me where I command," said 
Lee, sullenly. 

" Then remain here," said Washington. " I 
expect you to take proper means for checking the 

" Your orders shall be obeyed, and I shall not be 
the first to leave the ground," replied Lee, with spirit. 

The rest of the day the battle raged, and when 
night came the enemy had been obliged to fall 
back, and Washington determined to follow up his 
success in the morning. He directed all the troops 
to lie on their arms where they were. He himself 
lay stretched on the ground beneath a tree, his 
cloak wrapped about him. About midnight, an 
officer came near with a message, but hesitated, 
reluctant to waken him. 

" Advance, sir, and deliver your message," 
Washington called out ; " I lie here to think, and 
not to sleep." 

In the morning, Washington prepared to renew 
the attack, but the British had slipped away under 
cover of the darkness, not willing to venture an- 
other battle. 

Pursuit, except by some cavalry, was unavailing. 
The men were exhausted. The sun beat down 

(To te 

fiercely, and the hot sand made walking difficult. 
Moreover, the British fleet lay off Sandy Hook, 
and an advance in that direction would lead the 
army nearer to the enemy's re-enforcements. Ac- 
cordingly Washington marched his army to Bruns- 
wick and thence to the Hudson river, crossed it, 
and encamped again near White Plains. 

After the battle of Monmouth, Lee wrote an 
angry letter to Washington and received a cool one 
in reply. Lee demanded a court-martial, and Wash- 
ington at once ordered it. Three charges were 
made, and Lee was convicted of disobedience of 
orders in not attacking the enemy on the 28th of 
June, agreeably to repeated instructions ; misbe- 
havior before the enemy on the same day, by making 
an unnecessary and disorderly retreat ; and disre- 
spect to the Commander-in-chief. He was suspend- 
ed from the army for a year, and he never returned 
to it. Long after his death, facts were brought to 
light which make it seem more than probable that 
General Lee was so eaten up by vanity, by jealousy of 
Washington, and by a love of his profession above 
a love of his country, that he was a traitor at heart, 
and that instead of being ready to sacrifice himself 
for his country, he was ready to sacrifice the 
country to his own willful ambition and pride. 

But his disgrace was the end of all opposition to 
Washington. From that time there was no question 
as to who was at the head of the army and the 

conti?med. ) 





6 7 I 

The flowers arc fringing th 

The songsters are nesting in shadowy nooks ; 
The birds and the blossoms are thronging to 

meet us. 
With loveliness, perfume, and music they greet 

us, — 

For Summer, the beautiful, reigns ! 

Bv Emma C. Dowd. 
swift meadow 

The bright-throated humming-bird, marvel of 

Comes questing for honey-blooms, draining their 

sweetness, — 

For Summer, the beautiful, reigns ! 

High up in the elm is the oriole courting, 
A new suit of velvet and gold he is sporting ; 
With gay bits of caroling, tuneful and mellow, 
He wooes his fair lady-love, clad in plain yellow, — 
For Summer, the beautiful, reigns! 

The bobolink tilts on the tall, nodding clover, 
And sings his gay song to us over and over; 
The wild roses beckon, with deepening blushes, 

And sweet, from the wood, sounds the warble of The blossoms and birds bring us, yearly, sweet 
thrushes,— token 

For Summer, the beautiful, reigns ! That Nature's glad promises never are broken. 

Then sing, happy birdlings, nor ever grow weary ! 
The white lilies sway with the breeze of the morning, Laugh on, merry children, 't is time to be cheery ! — 

In raiment more fair than a monarch's adomint 

For Summer, the beautiful, reigns ! 


By Thomas Edwin Turner. 

LIFFORD and Jack went down from Brooklyn last 
summer to spend a few weeks with Clifford's aunt, 
in the cozy old homestead on the Shrewsbury 
River. Yachting was to be their chief enjoyment. 
To be sure, they were not practical yachtsmen ; 
but Jack said he "had read up the subject," and 
Cliff " had been out in a yacht once or twice," so 
they had no fears. 

Clifford and Jack were second cousins, and great 
friends; but Jack had been in the habit of spending 
his summers at Saratoga, and accordingly he looked 
forward to his present trip with the feeling of an ad- 
venturous explorer of unknown regions. And in 
order to be prepared for every emergency, he 
brought an "outfit" that filled a strong trunk, two 
valises, a shawl-strap, and a number of queerly- 
shapcd packages. 

Clifford, who for several years had spent a part 
of each summer at his aunt's, carried a handbag. 
When Jack asked him where the rest of his things 
were, Clifford, with a glance at his cousin's paraphernalia, answered that he preferred to keep his 
outfit" at his aunt's. He was not likely to need it elsewhere, and he saved expense for extra baggage. 


6 7 2 




But Caesar was Jack's chief reliance and most 
weighty responsibility. Caesar was a dog; — accord- 
ing to Jack, a setter-dog. And as Clifford was un- 
able to state what was the dog's breed, if it were 
not a setter. Jack felt that he had established his 
point. Moreover, when Caesar, upon their arrival 
at Mud Flat, immediately celebrated the occasion 
by slaughtering eight out of a brood of eleven 
Cochin China chicks that were great pets of their 
hostess, Jack claimed that his pet's success as a game 
dog was assured beyond cavil. Jack was somewhat 
discouraged on learning that the principal "game " 

ing the rest of the boys' visit, was to chase the gor- 
geous bird of Juno into the branches of a pear-tree, 
and stand below and bark. 

Though this was severe on the nervous organ- 
ism of the peacock, it seemed to afford unlimited 
satisfaction to Caesar, and it kept him out of so 
much other possible mischief, that he was rarely- 
interfered with on these occasions. 

As soon as Jack could have his luggage taken to 
the house and put in the room the boys were to 
occupy, he hastened to unpack his outfit before the 
wondering eyes of Clifford. A handsome double- 



in that vicinity was the sideling " shedder," or crab, 
and he acknowledged that in the pursuit of such 
plunder he feared even Caesar was not ambitious. 
But nothing ever discouraged Caesar, and he had 
more fun with Miss Goodmaid's favorite peacock 
than all the game in New Jersey would have afforded 
him ; as subsequent events developed the fact that 
he was mortally afraid of a gun. This is not strange, 
considering that he had spent the previous eight 
months of his short life in a stable on Henry street, 
in Brooklyn. Indeed, his principal amusement dur- 

barreled shot-gun, Clifford suggested, might be 
used in trying to kill his aunt's three remaining 
chickens ; a delicate split-bamboo fishing-rod 
might come in well for catching live bait, if they 
were not in a hurry ; and an extensi%-e collection 
of artificial flies would perhaps serve to frighten 
away the mosquitoes. A large horse-pistol Cliff 
thought would be '-just the thing for picking off 
bull-frogs in the marshes"; but he was forced to 
tell his cousin that he feared his shooting-coat, his 
fine vachting suit, his knickerbockers for mountain 




climbing, and his tennis flannels, would scarcely be 
needed in that vicinity. 

Poor Jack looked ruefully at his expensive " out- 
fit," which Clifford seemed to prize so little, and 
then he asked his cousin to tell him what specialties 
of costume and accouterments were best fitted to 
the Shrewsbury region. Without 
answering in words, Clifford simply 
pointed to a closet, through the 
open door of which could be seen, 
hanging from hooks, a broad- 
brimmed straw hat, a blue flannel 
shirt, a stout pair of trousers, and 
a lanyard. A large jack-knife lay 
upon the shelf, and a substantial 
pair of high shoes stood firmly on 
the floor. 

Little more was said concerning 
the subject that evening, but Jack 
went to bed in a very sober frame 
of mind. In the morning, he put 
all his fancy toggery back into his 
trunk, selecting only such useful 
garments as Clifford suggested, 
and took an early opportunity of 
purchasing a hat which was an 
exact counterpart of the one worn 
by his cousin. 

Indeed, it was dangerous to men- 
tion the word "outfit" in Jack's 
hearing for a long time. 

Clifford's aunt, Miss Goodmaid, 
was asked to tell them where they 
could hire a sail-boat for their pro- 
posed trip ; she had heard that Johnny Pcltsman, 
the carriage-maker's son, in Mud Flat, had such 
a boat, and to him the boys went to " negotiate." 

Johnny Peltsman did have a boat, which he said 
he would let, if he "could get his price." The 
Slug, he admitted, looked a trifle heavy, and, while 
under "proper conditions" she would go fast, 
Johnny confessed that she could n't sail very close 
to the wind. LIpon payment of five dollars, he 
said, the boys might have the boat for two weeks. 

"Done!" cried Jack, eagerly. "I dare say 
she will suit us perfectly. Some people may 
like boats that sail close to the wind. But a boat 
to suit me must be able to slide away from the 
wind, and not stay crawling around close to it !" 

Clifford's face was a study as his partner thus 
aired his nautical opinions, while Johnny Peltsman 
greeted the remark with open-mouthed astonish- 
ment ; and when Jack concluded his observations, 
Johnny said earnestly : 

"By the way, young friend, it is understood, of 
course, that if you sink or wreck the Slug, 
you must pay damages." 

Vol. XI It. — 43. 

"Certainly, if we lose the yacht, you shall be 
paid for it," Jack answered, feeling rather indig- 
nant at the suggestion. 

Being directed to the place where the Slug 
lay, the boys hastened away to take immediate 
possession. Johnny stood looking after them 


until they were out of sight. Then turning to enter 
his shop, he soliloquized : 

" Well, that beats all ! The idea of hiring a 
boat without seeing it, and not caring to have it to 
sail close to the wind ! I suppose, of course, those 
chaps can swim." And with an ominous shake of 
the head, Johnny resumed his carriage-making. 

Our heroes found their prize lying in a little 
cove just above the bridge. The Slug was a 
flat-bottomed center-board boat, fifteen feet long, 
five feet across the stern, and narrowing gradually 
to a point at the bows. A more clumsy sail-boat 
was never seen. But Jack only noticed the two 
large lockers, and with unbounded satisfaction, 
remarked to his cousin : 

" We can stow away a big stock of provisions in 
those boxes, Cliff." 

It was Friday, so the two boys decided to give the 
"yacht" a short trial-trip down to the Highlands and 
back. In that way they would become familiar with 
the boat, and on Monday morning would be ready 
to start on a week's cruise. It chanced that a 
flood-tide was just beginning when the lads shoved 



s i , u i ; . 


the Slug well out into the river, while the wind 
was blowing a brisk gale straight down-stream, 
the very direction in which the boys wished to 
go. Clifford was enough of a sailor to step the 
little mast and properly set the leg-of-mutton sail 
for a breeze directly astern. With a strong wind 
behind her, and only a weak tide opposing, it was 
not surprising that the Slug made a progress 
quite satisfactory to the two amateur yachtsmen. 
As the tide increased in force, however, the boat 
went slower and slower, and it was six o'clock when 
the Highlands "hove in sight," as Jack said — 
having learned that and other nautical terms from 
his story-books. On finding how late it was, Clif- 
ford remarked : 

" We 'd better be making for home." 
The boys managed to put the Slug about, and 
very soon Jack ascertained that there were times 
when it was an advantage to have a boat able to 
sail close to the wind ; for, as the breeze still blew 
down-stream, Clifford found it simply impossible 
to beat up the river in the Slug. The truth 
was, the only "proper conditions" under which 
Johnny Peltsman's boat would sail at all were 
those of going straight before the wind ! 

Clifford threw a hurried glance shoreward, 
looked down at the water, and immediately pulled 
his oar into the boat, saying : 

"The fates are against us, Jack. In spite of 
our pulling and tugging, we are actually drift- 
ing down-stream. The tide has turned ; it 's dead 
against us, and so is the wind. It would take a 
Cunarder to tow this miserable scow back to Mud 
Flat, now." 

" What 's to be done? " asked Jack, suddenly 
realizing that they might be swept out into the 
bay, where the whitecaps gave evidence that a very 
high sea would be encountered. 

" Neither of us can swim very far," said Clifford. 
•" Our only chance is to land on that little island, 
yonder. Luckily we 're drifting straight toward it." 

Favored by the current, the boat was carried 
close to the sand-bar of the island, and by a vigor- 
ous use of the oars they were able to bring their 
craft safely to land. 

" We '11 have to stay here until slack water," 
said Clifford, " and then perhaps we can row across 
to the shore. The next slack will be about mid- 
night, so we 'd better camp here and take advan- 
tage of to-morrow morning's slack. Then we can 


Clifford told Jack that they must " row the old 
tub back to Mud Flat," and both boys pluckily 
bent to the work. It was hard work, too. The 
oars were long and heavy, the boat was as unwieldy 
as a raft of logs, and at length Jack exclaimed : 

" It seems to me, Cliff, that the scenery along 
this river is very monotonous. We passed just 
such banks and houses as those over there, ten 
minutes ago." 

cross to the Highlands Landing, a short distance 
below here, and go back by steamboat. The Sea- 
bird will tow the Slug home for us." 

"All right; I '11 stand by you," laconically 
answered Jack. 

They at once set about gathering grass and 
sea-weed with which to make a bed, intending to 
use the Slug's sail for a covering. After a couch 
had been arranged to their satisfaction, the two 




friends strolled around their domain, which they 
found to be a little larger than a city lot. During 
their walk, the boys caught four or five soft-shell 
crabs, which the epicurean Jack prudently stowed 
away in one of the lockers. 

The mosquitoes had troubled the lads greatly 
from the moment they landed on the sand- 
island; and, as they had no matches and could not 
make a " smudge," they soon decided to " turn in " 
as Jack technically stated. But then the vicious 

until daybreak in battle with his small but ferocious 

At sunrise, the castaways refreshed themselves 
with a prolonged bath ; and then, hungry as bears, 
they impatiently waited for slack water, when they 
sprang into the Slug, and by long and hard work, 
at last reached the mainland not far above the 

An investigation of their finances showed the 
boys that they had, together, exactly sixty- five cents. 


insects attacked their victims in clouds, until the 
boys were forced to cover their heads and hands 
completely with the sail ; and in that uncomfort- 
able condition they finally fell asleep. 

It seemed but a short time to Clifford before he 
became conscious of a stinging, smarting sensa- 
tion on his face that was almost unbearable, and 
he awoke to find that he was literally covered with 
swarms of the poisonous little pests, while Jack, 
snugly rolled up in the sailcloth of which he had 
taken complete possession in his sleep, snored 

Slapping, brushing, and shaking off his tor- 
mentors, Clifford punched his companion and 
exclaimed : 

" How can you sleep through this ? " 

"Oh, /'/// all right," answered Jack, in smothered 

"Well, I'm not! " growled Clifford, as he sprang 
to his feet and proceeded to spend the few hours 

With that sum, therefore, they had to provide a 
breakfast, pay steamboat fares home, and meet 
unknown incidental expenses. A little shop was 
soon found where coffee, butter, and a roll would 
be furnished to each boy for thirty cents. Their 
fares home would amount to twenty cents ; and the 
boys decided to take the chance that fifteen cents 
would prove adequate to the unforeseen. Remem- 
bering the soft-shell crabs in the locker, Clifford 
induced the good-natured landlady to cook them 
"without extra charge; " and soon the two hun- 
gry lads were dispatching their thirty-cent break- 
fast, which included fried potatoes, also "donated" 
by the kind-hearted hostess. 

At ten o'clock on that eventful Saturday morn- 
ing, the young navigators re-embarked and dropped 
down with the tide to the steamboat landing at the 

The boys soon saw the Seabird plowing her 
way to the landing. When she had landed, the 





Slug was quickly made fast to the stern of the 
larger boat, and ere long the steamer was bearing 
them homeward. 

Seated well forward on the upper deck, the boys 
were congratulating themselves on being at last 
free from all anxiety, when suddenly they were 
startled by loud cries from the stern of the steam- 
boat : 

" Hi ! Hi ! You lads who own the little boat 
astern ! Hurry ! quick ! quick ! She 's sinking" ! 
she 's sinking ! " 

Running to the spot whence came those warn- 
ing shouts; Clifford and Jack looked down at the 
Slug and saw that the small center-board had 
been thrown entirely out of its trunk by the force of 
the water which had been churned to a white foam 
under the huge paddle-wheels of the Seabird, — 
and a broad stream pouring through this opening 
into their "yacht" threatened each moment to 
swamp it. 

"Bother that yacht! She 's going to haunt us 
all our lives ! " cried Jack, in dismay ; but Clifford, 
taking in the state of affairs at a glance, ran to the 
lower deck, and with one stroke of his pocket- 
knife cut the Slug's painter, and then the two boys 
silently and sadly watched their boat drop far be- 
hind m the fan-shaped wake of the larger vessel. 

"She maybe picked up by some one along- 
shore, but, more likely, she '11 go to the bottom," 
thoughtfully remarked Clifford. 

" I don't believe it," said Jack; "that yacht will 
never sink ! She will be turning up against us all 
through life, bringing trouble and disgrace." 

In due time, the boys arrived at the Goodmaid 
homestead, where they received a warm welcome 
from Clifford's aunt, who had almost begun to fear 
that her young guests were at the bottom of the 

On Monday morning, bright and early, the two 
boys started down the left bank of the river to find 
their boat. They found it after an hour's walk. 
It had been hauled out upon the beach. The 
Slug had been sighted and recovered by a farmer 
living alongshore. After paying two dollars as 
salvage, Jack asked the farmer concerning the best 
way of getting the boat home. 

"There are three ways," answered the man, 
thoughtfully. "The first is to wait till there's a 
hurricane blowing straight up the river, when per- 
haps you can sail up. The second is to hire me to 
row her up. And the third is to let me put the boat 
on my lumber wagon, and haul it up to Mud Flat." 

"Of the three, which would be best?" per- 
sisted Jack. 

" Well," replied the farmer, " you may have to 

wait weeks for the hurricane ; I will haul the boat 
for two dollars ; and I will undertake to row it up 
the river 1 — (though, understand, I don't say how 
long I shall be about it) — but row her up I will, 
somehow, and charge you only two hundred and 
fifty dollars for the job. And that's very cheap, I 
can tell you, for I know that boat ! " 

It is hardly necessary to say that the boys 
decided that the Slug should go home on wheels, 
provided they might ride, too, without increase 
of pay. By the use of rollers, an. inclined plane 
and levers, the boat was safely hoisted upon the 
wagon. The farmer occupied the bow, and Jack 
and Cliff each sat on a thwart. 

And now. for the first time in her history, 
the Slug was under complete control. The whip 
cracked, the horses strained at their collars, the 
wheels rolled, and away went Jack's "yacht," 
trundling homeward. The road led past the 
Goodmaid farm, and over the long bridge cross- 
ing the Shrewsbury. As they neared the farm, the 
boys raised a shout, and Caesar, Jack's mongrel 
and mischievous dog, leaving the peacock for a 
moment, came bounding out to meet them. 

True to his nature, he at once began a series of 
noisy gambols about the farmer's young and 
high-spirited horses. But soon wearying of that 
harmless jumping at the wagon, the dog suddenly 
ran under the forward wheels, and sprang at the 
long fetlocks of the "near" horse. 

Like a flash, the team made a wild plunge, and 
dashed down the road. The wagon was jerked 
from beneath the Slug, and the boat and its pas- 
sengers fell heavily to the ground. The anchor, 
dropping between the wagon-box and a wheel, 
became firmly fixed ; while the line to which the 
anchor was attached, being good manilla rope, 
was uncoiled and dragged after the horses with 
great rapidity. 

Fortunately, the boys and the driver had time 
to jump out of the "yacht" before the anchor- 
rope was all " paid out," and so, with the exception 
of a bad shaking-up and a few bruises, they suf- 
fered no injury from their unceremonious disem- 
barking. But the sudden fall had "broken the 
backbone" of the Slug, as Jack expressed it; 
and, as if that were not enough, the poor boat, 
as it hung by the painter, was swung, bumped, 
knocked, and dragged along, until it was literally 
reduced to fragments. There was scarcely a resi- 
dence in all Mud Flat that did not have, long 
afterward, some satisfactory reminder of the last 
cruise of the Slug. 

But all agreed that the old boat had one vir- 
tue — it made famous firewood ! 





By Henry Eckford. 

Fifth Paper. 

In tracing back our letters, we now have 
reached Chalkis, where the Phoenicians under 
Kadmus taught the Greeks' their letters. A funny 
thing occurred to the wise men who ferreted 
out all these facts. They could read Greek, and 
they could read Hebrew, and the strange likeness 
between many of the names for the letters in the 
two languages made it certain that in some way 
they were related or connected. But what meant 
those letters on rocks, metal vases, and earthenware 
jars that we now call Phoenician ? Single letters 
looked like Greek letters distorted ; but the words 
would not read as Greek. Nor would they read 
as Hebrew, although the characters appeared to 
have some connection with Hebrew. Greek is 
written like our writing, from left to right; but 
Hebrew, Arabic, and Persian are written from 
right to left. So, in those languages a book begins 
where our books end. It was found, too, that the 
Hebrew writing now in use is very different exter- 

nally from that used by David and Solomon, al- 
though the names and general shape of the let- 
ters are the same. Have you ever seen a Hebrew 
Bible ? The alphabet in which the Old Testament 
was originally written looked very different from 
that which the Jews now use in their Bibles ; it 
was much nearer the Phoenician in appearance. 

For a long time it never dawned on men's 
minds that perhaps the Phoenician way of writing, 
from right to left, was not followed by the Greeks ; 
but at last they remembered that in very early 
times the lines of Greek writing were made to read 
alternately from right to left and from left to right. 
Such inscriptions were called botistrcplic'don (" turn- 
ing like oxen in plowing "), because the letters had 
to be read as the oxen move from furrow to furrow 
in the field that they plow, first one way, then the 
other. That gave the needed clew. 

After all, if we do not connect letters one to 
the other, as in running handwriting, does it 
make much difference whether we set the separate 
letters down in a sequence which begins at the 




right and ends at the left, or in one that begins at 
the left and ends at the right ? Some nations, like 
the Chinese and Tartars, find it convenient to write 
signs under each other. The Egyptians used to 
write in at least three several directions, namely, 
downwards, from right to left, and from left to 
right. Generally one can tell how to read hiero- 
glyphs in Egyptian and Mexican manuscripts by 
noting the direction of the faces of animals and 
persons pictured, and then reading in the opposite 
direction. Sometimes Egyptian hieroglyphs were 
engraved one upon the other, like a monogram. 

Well, putting some or all of these facts together, 
it suddenly flashed on some one that the oldest 
Greek letters might be nothing more or less than 
the Phoenician letters turned the other way. And 
when they came to examine the very oldest Greek 
inscriptions to be found, they discovered that this 
was the main difference between the two ! The 
Greeks had borrowed the Phoenician letters and 
merely added some new characters to express 
sounds peculiar to their own tongue and neglected 
others that were of no service. 

It was this alphabet that the Greek- Phoenicians 
brought to Italy. When, centuries later, Latins and 
Sabines and Etruscans and Oscans, banded to- 
gether and formed the great city of Rome, it was 
this alphabet they inherited from their forefathers. 
Several of the letters which the Etruscans thought 
necessary to express sounds in their language, were 
dropped before the Romans came to power and 
produced their great poets and essayists. 

So, now you know how the alphabet came to 
you, which the Irish monks taught our heathen 
forefathers. It came through the Latins from the 
people of Bceotia, or Greeks, who learned it from 
the Phoenicians. 

But that great mercantile people, the Phoenici- 
ans, also left to the nations near their old home 
in Palestine, the same precious gift of an alphabet. 
Very old inscriptions in Hebrew, lately found, are 
seen to be written in almost the same alphabet 
as the Phoenician. Perhaps you are beginning to 
wonder how many peoples there are who owe their 
letters to that old sea-folk who were the traders, 
pirates, and buccaneers of the Mediterranean! 
There is the Hebrew, which people have called the 
alphabet of God, because the Holy Scriptures were 
written in it, and which was also used by magi- 
cians for their amulets and talismans ; there is 
the Greek, in which the epics of Homer, the 
long poems of Hesiod, and the rhapsodies of Pin- 
dar were taken down; there is the Latin, in which 
all the wisdom of the ancients reached us; and there 
are all the differing alphabets, printed characters, 
and script handwritings of Europe and America ! 
In fact, I could not tell vou here, so numerous 

S :3- 


5 a 


S tri'g.i 

are they, the names of all the languages in Asia, 
Africa, Europe, and America, that were and are 
written in some alphabet, which traces its descent 
from the twenty-two Phoenician letters. 

The connection between Greek and Phoenician 
is much easier to believe than that Arabic, a sen- 
tence of which you 
see here represented, 
should be also a writ- 
ing derived from the 
Phoenician. Aiabic 
letters are used by so 
large a portion of the 
inhabitants of the 
earth that it stands 
second among the 
great national, or 
rather, the great re- 
ligious alphabets of 
the world. Some of 
you know, I suppose, 
that Mohammed was 
a very wise and im- 
aginative Arab of an 
important though 
poor tribe of Arabia 
Felix. Pie was a 
great poet and states- 
man; he had visions 
and called himself 
the Prophet of God. 
He wrote the Koran, 
which is used by an 
immense multitude 
of men as their only 
law-book and Bible. 
The dialect which he 
and his clan used be- 
came, through the 
spread of his doc- 
trines, the standard, 
first for all Arabia, 
and then for all the 
enormous countries a 
hundred times larger 
than Arabia which 
his disciples and their 
followers won by 
force of arms. 

Of course the al- 
phabet he used did 
not spring up sud- 
denly. 1 1 was handed 
down from the early times of the Phoenicians, and 
gradually became so changed in most of the letters 
that you would hardly believe they had ever been 
the same as the Phoenician letters. Writers of it 



-.3 ~H 

S pi o V 

0.3 a 


5 a n 

5 sv '1? 


[F 3 


6 79 

uses, in the main, the same alphabet that looks so 
plain and simple on the page you are reading ! 



Both Phoenician and Aramaic were in all prob- 
ability spoken and written in Palestine and Aram. 
It was in Aramaic, too, that the words of Christ and 
his apostles were spoken ; and a few of the actual 
words are still retained in the New Testament, for 
example " Talitha cumi," meaning "Maid, arise ! " 
It was probably Aramaic that prevailed also in the 
great capitals of Mesopotamia, while the rich and 
haughty kings of Babylonia and Assyria were using 
on their stone and plaster images and in their queer 
books of inscribed and baked brick, the writing that 
is called " cuneiform." It is so called because the 
letters appear totobe formed of little cunci, wedges, 
or nails. "Arrow-headed writing" is another 

were so careless, or so proud of being able to read 
and write when the mass of their neighbors were 
ignorant, that, neglectfully or intentionally, 
they allowed many letters to become almost I *~\ \\ [} 
like one another. In the Arabic, Turkish, 
and Persian languages, it ishard to tella num- 
berofthe lettersapart. Inorder to distinguish them, 
later writers devised a set of dots, like the dot over 
our small i. The same difficulty occurred among 
the Hebrews, whose wise men seemed to enjoy mak- 
ing writing hard to write and to read. Another 
reason why Arabic is hard to make out is because 
many of the letters change their forms according as 
they stand alone (unconnected), or stand at the be- 
ginning of a word (initial), or in between tw-o other 
letters (connected) or at the end of a word (final). 
Think of having to distinguish the same letter under 
four different forms ! What a bother to the children 
of the Arabs, Turks, and Persians as they sit tailor- 
fashion, or kneel patiently on the floor, their shoes 
left outside the threshold, while the school- 
master flourishes his rod over their puzzled nod- 
dles, or raps the soles of their tired little feet ! 
Now Arabic letters and Hebrew, too, if you 
try to trace them back to Phoenician, are 
found to have passed through the hands of 
a people who occupied the high lands of Asia 
Minor, where the two great "rivers of Baby- 
lon," the Euphrates and the Tigris, begin to 
run their course. This land was called Aram 
and the ancient language spoken there, the 
Aramaic. Between Phoenician and Aramaic 
the connection is close. The Aramaic took 
the place of the Phoenician language, when 
the Phoenicians were edged out of Palestine 
westward over the Mediterranean. So we 
see that Arabic, which looks so strange 

and is so elegant and fantastic when embroid- name for it. Look well at this curious writing made 
ered on banners or traced on tiles or written on the by engraving on brick. Several different languages 
beautiful mulberry-leaf paper of the Orient, really have been written in it. 


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By Lilian* Dynevor Rice. 

Six sturdy lads lay curled up in their beds 
When the Birthday of Freedom had faded to night, 
With burns on their fingers and pains in their heads, 
And scarred like the heroes of many a fight. 
But, strange to relate, as all sleepless they lay, 
Though ten from the steeple had chimed loud 

and clear, 
They sighed : " What a perfectly glorious day ! 
Too bad it can only come once in the year ! " 

The six patient mothers, who loved the six boys, 
Were resting at last, now the daylight was done ; 
For, with the wild racket and riot and noise, 
No peace had been theirs since the dawn of the 

And they sighed, as they said in the weariest way 
(And full cause had they for their feelings, I fear) : 
This has been such a terrible, ear-splitting day ! 
How lucky it only comes once in the year ! " 






i886. 1 



By John R. Coryell. 

Everybody knows the old story of the father 
who taught his sons to be united by showing them 
a bundle of sticks. Taken together, the sticks 
could not be broken ; but taken singly, they were 
snapped in two very quickly. 

The wild dogs of South Africa, like the bundle 
of sticks, furnish an example of the value of unity. 
A single wild dog is not very formidable, but a 
pack of wild dogs is the dread of every living creat- 
ure in the part of Africa where they dwell ; and 
more persevering, savage, and relentless hunters 
do not exist. 

The wild dog has keen scent, quick intelligence, 
great powers of endurance, and great speed ; so 
that, however swift may be the animal pursued, it 
has cause to fear this tireless hunter. Indeed, the 
wild dog never seems to take into consideration 
the size, strength, or agility of its game. Even 
the lion, it is said, has learned to dread those small 
hunters, which seem to have no fear of death, 
but rush with fierce courage to attack the mighty 
monarch himself, should he be so unlucky as to 
become the object of their pursuit. 

One traveler tells of having witnessed the pur- 
suit and destruction of a large leopard by a pack 
of wild dogs. Whether or not the dogs had set 
out with the intention of capturing the leopard, he 
could not tell. He saw them start up the great cat 
in a low jungle. The leopard made no effort at 
first to fight off its assailants ; but, with a series 
of prodigious springs, sought shelter in the only 
refuge the plain afforded — a tree which had par- 
tially fallen. 

There the hunted beast stood, snarling and growl- 

ing in a manner that would have frightened off 
any ordinary foe. The savage dogs, however, never 
hesitated a moment, but with agile leaps ran up the 
sloping trunk, and gave instant battle to their furi- 
ous game. One after another, the dogs were hurled 
back, each stroke of the terrible paw making one 
foe the less. Yet they continued to throw them- 
selves against the enraged creature, until, wearied 
by the contest and wounded in fifty places, it fell 
from the tree ; when, still struggling, it was quickly 
torn to pieces. 

It must not be supposed, however, that the wild 
dog usually prefers as formidable game as the 
leopard. A sheep-fold is always an attraction too 
great for the wild dog to pass. 

And now, after calling this wild hunter a dog, 
I shall have to say that it is not a dog at all, 
but is only a sort of cousin to the dog, and really a 
nearer relative of the hyena, though it so resem- 
bles both animals as to have gained the name 
of hyena-dog. Its scientific name is Lycaon 
venaticus ; and besides the two common names 
already mentioned, it has half a dozen more. 

Being neither dog nor hyena, and yet akin to 
both, it is one of those strange forms of the animal 
creation which naturalists call "links." It has 
four toes, like the hyena, while it has teeth like 
the dog's. 

Some attempts have been made to tame it, so as 
to gain the use of its wonderful powers of hunting ; 
but none of these efforts have yet been successful, 
because of the suspicious nature of the animal. 
It seems to feel that every offer of kindness or 
familiarity is a menace to its liberty. 


By A. R. W. 

he theoretic turtle started out to see the toad ; 

He came to a stop at a liberty-pole in the middle of the road. 
'Now how, in the name of the spouting whale," the indignant turtle cried, 
' Can I climb this perpendicular cliff, and get on the other side ? 
If I only could make a big balloon, I 'd lightly over it fly ; 
Or a very long ladder might reach the top, though it does look fearfully high. 
If a beaver were in my place, he 'd gnaw a passage through with his teeth ; 
I can't do that, but I can dig a tunnel and pass beneath." 
He was digging his tunnel, with might and main, when a dog looked down at the hole. 
; The easiest way, my friend," said he, " is to walk around the pole." 




By Rose Lattimore Alling. 

Chapter I. 

There was a gentlemanly raising of hats and a 
womanly fluttering of skirts at the Ferrises' door. 
The hats were borne down the dark avenue, and 
could be seen, occasionally, swinging briskly along 
under the light of successive lampposts. They were 
very stylish hats. 

The skirts made a soft scurrying sound as they 
rustled upstairs, and along the dim hall, disappear- 
ing into the rooms of their owners. They were 
very dainty skirts. 

Nan closed her door, turned up the gas, stood a 
moment pouting at herself in the glass, pulled the 
wilted roses from her belt with an impatient jerk, 
tossed her pretty evening dress across a chair, 
exchanged her boots for a pair of slippers, and 
stole noiselessly into Evelyn's room to talk over 
the party with that dear sister and Cathy, who was 
staying with them, as a guest. 

She found those two persons waiting for her, while 
they straightened out the fingers of their long gloves. 

" Well, girls," began Nan, seating herself lazily 
upon the middle of the bed, " there is just 
one solitary comfort left after an utterly stupid 
evening like this : you can express your feelings to 
your dearest friends, and here I am to express ! " 

" Go on, then," sighed her sister, ruefully exam- 
ining a stain on her fan; "but don't speak too 
loud or you will waken the household." 

" Oh, you need n't be afraid, Evelyn ; I 'm not 
in one of my fire-cracker moods. No, I 'm cool ; 
I have the calmness of stern resolve ; I speak from 
that tranquil height which lies beyond emotion ! " 
declaimed Nan, pulling out the hairpins from her 
artistic coils. 

" What notion have you in your busy head now ? 
Hasten to divulge, for it is very late," suggested 

" Late ! who cares ? I shall save years of sleep 
by wasting this midnight's gas ! " and Nan showed 
a gleam of fire in her eye as she gave the pillow 
a vindictive thump. 

" Well," yawned Cathy, "proceed at once"; 
and forthwith the audience curled itself up on 
the lounge, regarding the speaker with expectant 
amusement, while she, after finishing off an intri- 
cate pattern in hairpins, thus began : 

" Ahem — ladies — the subject of society in gen- 
eral and parties in particular, ladies and gentlemen," 
waving her hand toward sundry photographs 

standing about on Evelyn's writing-desk, "has 
been under consideration for some time. Ergo, 
I don't go to another one ! So there ! That 's 
settled. From this time forth I shall proceed to 
enjoy life in a rational way." 

With this conclusion to her rapid speech, she 
scattered her design over the bedspread with one 
destructive finger, and flashed upon her hearers 
two bright, snapping eyes, showing that she was 
in earnest, despite her nonsense. 

Cathy gasped, while Evelyn exclaimed : 

"Why, Nan, what happened? Did n't you 
have a gay time ? " 

This remark set Nan off, like a match to powder. 

" Gay? Oh, bewilderingly, intensely gay! Yes, 
it was just that — ' gay,' and nothing more. The 
party was all right, indeed better than most, from 
a high moral point of view, for my hair staid in 
curl and my gloves did n't burst ; I danced with 
the most stylish goose in the room ; I ate an ice 
with conceited Tom Lefferts in the conservatory ; 
I opened and shut my fan and smiled and raised 
my eyebrows the requisite number of times to pro- 
duce the effect of having a delightful time ! Oh — 

' I would not pass another such an eve, 
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days.' " 

This vivid speech was uttered in irony so cold 
that it w'ould have been quite thrilling if Nan 
had n't given the pillow another vehement poke in 
the middle, which made its four corners swell up 
in stiff remonstrance. 

"Goodness!" exclaimed Cathy, with a laugh, 
" what in the world are you going to do about 
it, Nan ? There is a full supply of nonsense in the 
world, I admit, but we can't reform the feature of 
the time, and we must have some fun " 

" Fun ! " interrupted Nan hotly. "Who is 
objecting to fun ? Who loves fun better than I ? 
But who has fun at these shows ? Did you have a 
really happy time to-night, Cathy ? Own up now. 
You know that, when the flutter is over, you can't 
remember one single thing worth remembering. 
Does it pay ? " 

" But we can't help it. What are you going to 
do — turn blue-stocking or prig, Nannie, love?" 
mildly inquired Evelyn. 

"'Prig' — 'blue-stocking' — no, I hate the 
very words," said Nan, adding, " I 'm seeking just 
what you are ; the only difference is, / 'in going to 
get it and you are not. But go on, sweet children. 


68 3 

go on giving your hair extra frizzlings, go on smiling 
divinely at vapid nothings, and eating numberless 
plates of cream — it is a noble future to contem- 
plate ! But let me tell you, deluded creatures, that 
you will drag home just so many times neither 

elyn, who reclined tragically upon the lounge, 
feigning to be completely overcome. 

After they had succeeded in controlling their 
emotions, Cathy said in a wailing voice : 

" Yes, Nan, I have a realizing sense that you are 





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benefited nor amused, and the last state of all such 
will be worse than the first. Let us weep ! " 

And now the poor pillow went flying off upon 
the floor, while Nan laughed at her own peroration. 

Her spell-bound hearers gave two gigantic sighs, 
while Cathv seized a cologne-bottle to restore Ev- 

more than half right ; for I do believe that, when, 
after such an evening, I survey my giddy self in the 
glass, I sigh more often than I smile." 

Nan, who was venting her yet unspent spite in 
braiding her hair into tight little curls, gave her 
head an emphatic nod and declared her fell inten- 




tion of finding some way out of her slough of 
despond. Then as the last braid dwindled to 
three hairs, she descended from the platform, and 
thus concluded : 

" Ladies and gentlemen, thanking you for your 
kind attention, I beg leave to announce that there 
will be another solemn conclave in regard to this 
vital subject, on the side veranda, to-morrow morn- 
ing at ten o'clock. Good-night, you dear old 
things, you are nearly asleep, and I Ve wearied 
you more than did that wretched party. Why, no ! 
Cathy's eyes are wide open ! Mercy on us, Cathy 

Chapter II. 

The bell in St. Luke's steeple rang out the 
stroke for three-quarters after nine in the morning. 
Nan lay in the hammock, gazing up through the 
woodbine of the before-mentioned side veranda. 
The leaves were beginning to turn maroon and 
russet ; but evidently she was not looking at these, 
for her pretty eyes were taking in a wider angle of 
light. In truth, there was a deep little wrinkle 
between her eyebrows, which implied deep thought. 

However, as the bell began on its ten strokes, 

.- V 

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_ ; - 

:"": ' 




"nam lav in the hammock thinking. 

thinks she 's thinking ! Go on, dear, it wont harm 
you at all." 

With this parting fling, she hopped to the door, 
holding in her hand one slipper, which she waved 
tragically, exclaiming, "Farewell, base world!" 
and was gone. 

" What a girl she is ! " said Evelyn, as the audi- 
ence unbent itself. " She did n't give me a chance 
to agree with or to combat her theories ; but. do 
you know, I am tired of it. too, just as much as 
Nan is, only she has vigor enough to rebel at the 
thraldom of her bright, natural self, while I keep 
on and on from mere inertia." 

"Well," said Cathy, slowly winding her watch, " I 
•was thinking, as Nan said — but it is one o'clock, 
and I shall not say another word until to-morrow." 

she with- 
V; •-. - drew her 

'-■■. -- - — ~ stare from the 

far, unseen hori- 
zon, rolled out of 
the hammock, came 
down hard on her two 
trim boots, stood up 
straight, and gazed the landscape o'er. 

" Not a girl in sight," she said to herself, with 
an amused laugh : "I believe the silly things are 
afraid of me ; maybe they think I have become 
one of those reformers — oh me, how shy girls are 
of a cause .' Well, anyhow. I have one, or rather 
a /'(-cause, and they must give me a fair hear- 
ing, though I must be wiser than a whole collec- 
tion of serpents." She had reflected thus far, when 
she espied a blue eye peeping around the corner 
of the bay-window. 

"Oh, Cathy!" she shouted; "oh, you perfid- 
ious foe! Come here! Where are the girls?" 
Cathy brought the companion eye into view, 
and finally two other pairs appeared, accompa- 
nied by their respective owners, Evelyn carrying 


68 5 

a basket of grapes. How merry they were, and 
how they laughed in that contagious girl-fashion 
as they encamped about Nan ! They made a group 
charming to behold, and they seemed capable of 
tossing anybody's blues away as easily as they now 
threw grape-skins into the sunny air. But they 
were not remarkable in any respect ; they had 
their full share of graces and defects, of assorted 
sizes, both of feature and character. No one of 
them was in the least a heroine : but the group 
was very like any other group that might have 
been found in many neighborhoods, on that 
pleasant September morning. 

Bert Mitchell, who was the only addition to the 
party of the night before, ensconced herself in the 
hammock with Cathy Drake. The two girls dif- 
fered from each other in many respects, but were 
great friends, as is often the case. 

Bert, who was never called Bertha, as she de- 
clared in extravagant phrase that she " perfectly 
loathed the name," was tall and cheery, with fine 
eyes, a mass of brown hair, and a voice a trifle 
loud. But the girls forgave her that ; and when- 
ever she began to speak, they would always listen, 
assured of hearing something bright. But her 
most characteristic feature was her hands. They 
were white and shapely, but she had a curious 
way of carrying them — as though she had just 
put them on for the first time, and was trying dif- 
ferent effects with them. The girls laughingly 
cried, '•' Long may they wave ! " and liked her all 
the same. She had an abundance of settled con- 
victions on every possible subject, — " positive opin- 
ions hot at all hours," Cathy's brother Fred said 
ofher, — and she was therefore always in a definite 
mood, and very good company. 

If, as some say, beauty is tested by the ability to 
wear one's hair combed straight back without 
being a scarecrow, Cathy, of all the girls, came 
nearest to being pretty, for she, and she alone, 
enjoyed the luxury of an even temper during high 
winds, damp days, and a vacation at the seashore. 
Her forehead was broad and calm, her eyes were 
blue and calm, and her mouth was sweet and calm. 
She was not positive about anything, which greatly 
irritated her friend Bert, who, indeed, flew into a 
comical passion one day, over her failure to arouse 
Cathy. Shaking her, she exclaimed, "Will nothing 
on earth move you ! Do get angry — at something 
or some one ! — at me ! — at anything ! Have n't 
you any depths in you ? If you have, stir them up ! " 

Cathy raised her crescent brows, and a faint 
color crept into her smooth cheek as she quietly 
said : " Depths don't stir, my dear ; and if stirred 
from the top, they are apt only to get muddy, 
you know. However, I 'd like to accommodate 
you by getting furiously angry — at you, for in- 

stance ; this is an inviting opportunity, and I 
don't know that I ought to miss it — but some- 
how it does n't seem worth while." And even the 
obstreperous Bert was silenced by this covert 

When they all had settled themselves into 
various cozy attitudes, Bert demanded to know 
the object of the caucus. " I hope it is something 
interesting, for nothing but a command from you 
would have induced me to crawl out this morning," 
she yawned, as she adjusted a sofa-pillow for her 

Cathy murmured, "Hear! Hear!" but was 
evidently more absorbed in Evelyn's explanation 
of a new Kensington stitch. 

Nan rapped sharply with the handle of a tennis 
racquet, and requested order. Then she gave a 
little cough, tossed the grape-vine overhershoulder, 
and began : 

" Fellow-citizens ! I come before you on this 
auspicious occasion to declare treason — treason to 
the tyrant commonly called ' polite society.' I 've 
come to the solemn conclusion that it is about 
time I began to prepare to live." 

She was at this point interrupted by a groan, 
and Bert asked : 

" Why, are n't you alive, Nan ? I am. Life so 
far is a great success, and it is all your own fault 
if you don't think so too. You have all the con- 
veniences for having an uncommonly favored 
existence, if you only insisted 'on thinking so." 

But Nan retorted: " That's just it — if one could 
only think so ! Aye, there's the rub. This is the 
place for tears. Oh, dear! — I can't whip my 
thoughts into obedience to my will as you can, 
Bert. I have, as you say, all the so-called ' op- 
portunities ' for having a so-called 'fine time,' 
and when I am old and gray, no one can say that 
I did not improve them with unflagging diligence. 
But I don't really enjoy myself, and I don't believe 
you do either — only you '11 never own to it. 
Now, girls, honor bright, do you honestly think 
we amount to much ? Are we getting the most 
out of life?" 

The impressiveness of the moment was ruined 
by the arrival of a green grape, plump upon the 
speaker's nose. 

Nan was good-natured enough to laugh with 
the rest, as she gave it a well-directed aim back at 

At this point Evelyn rescued the meeting from 
total disorder, by boldly announcing: "Stay, girls! 
I agree with Nan, so far as I know what she 
means. Oh, she was sublime last night ! I wilted 
under the heat of her eloquence, and I proclaim 
myself her humble follower." 

At this encouragement, Nan administered a 




smothering hug to her noble champion ; but sud- 
denly she seemed to change her tactics from ha- 
rangue to intrigue, for, helping herself to a bunch 
of Dianas, she said languidly : 

" Well, the curbed lion of my spirit was rampant 
last night, for I had a very inane time at that 
party — or perhaps I ate too much of the lemon 
streak of my Neapolitan ice; at all events, I was 
rash enough to declare war to the knife on all 
inducements from the giddy world again." 

" But you will go to the next party as usual," 
interrupted Bert, as she left the hammock. " You 
will go every time, my dear ; you can't help it ; 
it is inevitable fate ; so you 'd better calm down 
and meditate on your next gown." 

"Ah, Bert! You 've said it now!" almost 
shouted Nan. " That 's the very point ! Is it 
' inevitable fate ' that we go on and on ? I want 
something more worth the while. Do be patient 
with me, and let me lay the case before you 
as it looks to me. Here we are, every last girl 
of us out of school, and doing absolutely nothing. 
What would we think of young men who dawdled 
about at this rate, contenting themselves with a 
little dusting, arranging a few flowers, doing a bit 
of embroidery now and then, and in very energetic 
moments painting a teacup, but chiefly being ' in 
society,' and not earning one square inch even 
of their manly clothing? Horrors ! I would n't 
recognize such a ninny ! " 

The silenced audience looked sufficiently awe- 
struck to encourage Nan to continue. 

" Now, are we one whit more to be envied, just 
because we are girls ? Wake up, Bert ! And now 
that I 'm awake myself, I think I shall actually 
blush the next time Father pays me my allowance." 

" Well, girls, Nan is in earnest," said Evelyn. 
" Cathy and I were almost set to thinking by her 
burning eloquence last night — and I can assure 
you she has a scheme on foot; so, as a humble 
champion, I request an expression from the meet- 
ing, upon certain points. Firstly, all who agree 
that the present state of things is n't very satis- 
fying, will please manifest it by holding up the 
right hand." 

Cathy's gold thimble gleamed in the air. Bert 
was ostensibly asleep, with her head against the 
pillar, but suddenly she sat erect, and said with 
great decision : 

■'I think that you are running your precious 
heads against a wall — and, I assure you, the wall 
does n't mind it in the least. You are in the 
world, and you would better treat it politely or 
you will get roundly snubbed in return. As for 
me, I must meet people. Until Nan or some other 
philosopher offers something enticing, / remain 
true to the ship." 

"But suppose we do offer something in its 
place," said Evelyn, who had rolled up her work 
and stuck her needle through it, as though she 
were fastening an idea within. 

" You are not much of a sinner, so entice away," 
said Bert, smilingly, folding her hands. 

" Well," Evelyn proceeded with a comical drawl, 
" let 's be a club " 

"Oh, I 'm clubbed black and blue now!" 
gasped Bert ; " do try again, sweet child ! " 

"Let 's be a club," Evelyn repeated severely, 
•' and let us read, or study, or work, with all the 
might that is in us." 

Meanwhile, the clouds had been clearing from 
Nan's brow, and now she called out delightedly: 

"You are getting 'warm', as we used to say 
when we played ' hunt the thimble'; you are cer- 
tainly traveling toward milder climes, Evelyn. 
Yes, let us do something in earnest — and I know 
what I 'm going to do, too ! ' 

"What? what?" sounded in chorus. 

"I 'm going — to — earn — my — own — living." 

At each emphatic word, Nan bobbed her head 
in the most decisive manner. "I 'm going to seek 
my fortune, and I 'm going to try to lead a genuine 

The girls sat stunned, with wide open eyes, till 
Bert suddenly pounded on the floor with heavy 
applause, and Evelyn asked breathlessly : 

" Why, Nan, has Father failed, or lost any- 

"No, he has n't," answered Nan grimly, "but 
I have. What have I ever done since I was grad- 
uated but drift. about, vainly trying to amuse my- 
self. Why, girls, we have futures before us " 

" No, not before us?" laughed Bert with mock 

But Nan, undisturbed by Bert's interruption, 
went calmly on : 

" Do we wish to belong to that class of helpless 
women who are aghast and powerless if misfor- 
tune overtakes them ? Do we wish to depend on 
others all our lives — even if we have a fair pros- 
pect of property of our own " (looking hard at 
Bert). "Remember that the wheel of Fortune 
turns once in most lives, and / should n't like 
to be flattened under it ! " 

The attention of her hearers was suddenly 
startled by an exclamation from Bert, who stood 
up, with both hands at her heart, in apparent 
agony. Recovering, however, with astonishing 
alacrity, she murmured: "Oh, it is nothing — 
nothing but a barbed arrow driven home." 

And with this mysterious remark, she settled 
her hat, declared it was dinner-time, and, refusing 
to explain her unwonted reserve, laughingly tore 
herself away. 

( To be continued. ) 




O PUSSIES dear, 
It 's very queer 
That you wear your fur coats all the year ! 

Mamma, in May, 
Put hers away. 
I should think you 'd be too warm to play. 


[A Story of the Maine Coast.] 

By J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter VI. 


The kelp-gatherers, with their tip-cart and ox- 
team, had in the meanwhile entered the belt of 
woods which stretched along the coast, back from 
the sea. Tall trees rose on both sides of the narrow, 
sandy road, their tops meeting overhead. There 
was on the outskirts a scanty undergrowth, which, 
however, soon disappeared, leaving the open aisles 
of the forest, with here a brown carpet of pine- 
needles, and there a patch of bright moss. 

The sun was going down. The spots and flick- 
ers of wine-colored light vanished from the boughs. 
The long bars of shadow, cast by the great trunks, 
became merged in one universal shade, and even- 
ing shut down upon the woods. 

Soon another sound mingled with that of the 
wind sweeping through the pines and firs. It was 
the roar of the sea. 

The boys were more quiet now, the solemn 

scene filling their hearts with quiet joy. The 
large trees soon gave place to a smaller and 
thicker growth of spruce and balsam, the boughs 
of which now and then touched the cart-wheels as 
they passed. Somewhere in the dim wilderness, 
a thrush piped his evening song. 

" Hark ! " said Perce. " I heard something 
besides a bird. Is somebody calling ? " 

" A loon," said Moke. 

" A loon out on the water," said Poke. " The 
sea is just off here." 

They soon had glimpses of it through openings 
among the trees. But now the sound of it became 
louder ; the woods, too, moaned like another sea 
in the wind, and the cries were no longer heard. 

They came out upon a spot of low grassy ground 
behind the sand-hilis. There was a fresh-water 
pool near by. Perce thought it a good place for 
the oxen ; and he turned them out on the road- 
side. Mrs. Murcher's boarding-house was insight. 

" Suppose I run up there and find Oily before 
it gets any darker," said Perce. " You can be 




unhitching the steers from the cart, and getting 
'em around in a good place to feed. Fasten 'em 
to the cart-wheel by this rope ; tie it in the ring of 
the yoke. Let 'em drink first." 

" All right," said the twins. " Go ahead." 

And off Perce ran to summon his friend to their 

The twins turned the cattle into the grass, and 
then began to make things ready for their camp 
and supper ; keeping up all the time an incessant 
dialogue, which prevented them from hearing again 
the cries of the supposed loon, growing fainter and 
fainter on the distant waves. 

Neither did Perce hear them as he hastened 
along the path in the gloomy hollow, and mounted 
the piazza steps. In the hall-door of the boarding- 
house, he was met by a tall girl of seventeen, with 
a fine brunette complexion, piercing dark eyes, and 
a high, thin, Roman nose. 

Overawed a little by her rather imposing style 
of dress and features, Perce took off his cap, and 
begging her pardon, inquired for Oliver Burdeen. 

" Burdeen ? Oliver?" she queried. "Oh!" 
with a pleasant smile, " you mean Oily ! " 

"Yes," he replied. "We all call him Oily 
where he lives, but I was n't sure he would be 
known by that name here." 

" He is n't known by any other ! " replied the 
young lady with a laugh. " He 's about, some- 
where ; I believe he 's always about, somewhere ! 
Mrs. Merriman," she called to a lady in the parlor, 
"where 's the ubiquitous Oily?" 

" I don't know, Amy," replied the lady. "Did 
n't he go with the gentlemen in the yacht?" 

Amy " almost thought he did " ; yet it seemed to 
her she had seen him that afternoon ; a position of 
uncertainty on the part of that young lady, which 
would n't have been highly flattering to the vanity 
of Master Burdeen, even if he had n't been at 
that moment beyond the reach of flattery. 

" Mrs. Murcher can tell you," she said, turning to 
walk back to the end of the hall. " She is here, 
in the dining-room." 

Mrs. Murcher thought oily must be in his 

" I believe he is going home this evening," she 
said; "he wants to show his folks a new suit of 
clothes that has been given him. I guess he 's trying 
them on." 

" I am a neighbor of his," said Perce. " I am 
camping on the beach with some friends ; and we 
want him to join us." 

" Well ! " exclaimed the landlady, " you can go 
right up to his room and find him. It 's in the 
old part of the house ; but you 'd better go up the 
front way; it 's lighter." 

She was explaining to Perce that he must go 

up one flight, proceed to the end of the corridor, 
and then step down into a lower passage — when 
the tall young brunette called over the banisters, 
"I '11 show him !" 

He mounted after her ; and she threw open the 
door of what seemed an unoccupied room, to let 
more light from its windows into the corridor. 

" Be careful not to stumble ! " she warned him. 
"That 's his room, right before you, as you go 
down those steps." 

So saying, she disappeared in some other room, 
and Perce was left alone in the dim hall. He 
paused a moment to get a glimpse of the sea 
through the door and window of the room she had 
opened, which happened to be Mr. Hatville's 
room ; then he groped his way to Olly's door and 

In a little while, he returned alone to his friends 
on the beach. 

"I could n't find him," he said. " Mrs. Mur- 
cher sent me up to his room, but he was n't there; 
and I went all over the place. Then she said she 
thought he must have gone home, to show his 
folks a new suit of clothes ; he had asked her if he 
might ; but she did n't expect him to go so soon." 

" Oily 's made, if he 's got some new clothes ! " 
said Moke. 

" He never would speak to us, after that ! " said 
Poke. " Never mind; we can 'wake Nicodemus ' 
without him." 

" Wake Nicodemus ! " Moke shouted gleefully, 
to hear his voice resound in the woods. 

"Wake Nicodemus!" Poke repeated. And 
the three joined gayly in the chorus of a song then 
popular : 

" Now, run and tell Elijah to hurry up Poinp, 
And meet us at the gum-tree down in the swamp, 
To wake Nicodemus to-day ! " 

The very human biped whose cries had been 
mistaken for a loon's, heard their voices wafted to 
him by the wind — the same wind that was blow- 
ing him farther and farther from the shore. 

He screamed again, wildly ; but his own voice 
sounded weaker and weaker, while the merry 
chorus still went up from the little camping party 
on the beach : 

" Wake Nicodemus to-day ! " 

The boys sang and chatted as they worked. 
They made their beds in a hollow of the wind- 
swept dunes, where there would be less annoy- 
ance from mosquitoes than in the shelter of the 
woods, and spread their hay and blankets upon 
the dry sand. 

" Besides," said Perce, " the daylight will strike 
us here, and wake us early." 



" Wake Nicodemus ! " laughed Poke. 
And then they all burst forth again : 

" Wake Nicodemus to-day ! " 

The chasing clouds gathered, until the sky was 
almost completely overcast. The moon would 
not rise till 
late ; it be- 
came dark 
rapidly. But 
as the gloom 
of night thick- 
ened on land 
and sea, a lit- 
tle golden 
flame shot up 
on the shore, 
and grew 
large and 
bright as the 
shadows be- 
came more 

It was the 
flame of the 
boys' camp- 
fire, which 
they kindled 
on the sea- 
ward side of 
fed with rub- 
bish from the 
high -water 
mark of the 
recent storm. 
Later tides 
had not then 
reached it,and 
plenty of it was 
dry enough to 

Chips and 
old shingles, 
bleached sea- 
weed, broken 
planks, strips 
and slabs from 
saw-mills on some far-away river, and other refuse, 
littered the strand, — here, a broken lobster-pot 
which the rolling waves had washed ashore, and 
there, a ship's fender, worn smooth, with a frag- 
ment of rope still held in the auger-hole by its 
knotted end. 

Such of this fuel as best suited their immediate 
purpose the boys gathered for their fire : and Oily, 

Vol. XIII. — 44. 

in his wave-tossed boat, could see their agile figures 
running to and fro in the light of the flames. 

" There '11 be heaps of flood-wood, as well as 
kelp, for us to gather to-morrow," said Perce. 
" Don't put any more on the fire, boys." 

" Why not ? " asked the twins. 


"There's no use wasting it." answered Perce, 
adding, "We've fire enough. We'll roast our 
corn and go to bed, so as to be up early. It 'II 
be high tide before five to-morrow." 

"Then wake Nicodemus!" cried Moke in a 
gleeful tone. 

And again the three boys raised the wild chorus 
of the old plantation song. 




"Oily ought to be here!" said Perce. "He 
must have gone home by the coast ; and that 's 
the way we missed him." 

Even then, but for the noise of the surf and the 
whistling of the wind, they might have heard 
Olly's last screams ; and by straining their eyes 
they might have seen far out on the gloomy deep 
a dim object, now rising for a moment against the 
line of the evening sky, and now disappearing in 
a hollow of the waves. 

With hay about their heads to shelter them from 
the wind, and the light of their camp-fire gleam- 
ing over them, the kelp-gatherers lay under their 
blankets, in the hollow of the dunes. They talked 
or sang until the flames died to a feeble glimmer, 
that served to bring out by contrast the surround- 
ing gloom of sea and land and sky. 

" Is n't it dark, though ! " exclaimed Perce. " I 
had no idea it would cloud so. I believe it is 
going to rain. Then shan't we be in a fix ? " 

" It can't rain," said Moke. 

"No fear of that," added Poke, in a muffled 
voice from under his blanket. 

" What 's the reason ? " Perce demanded. 

" Uncle Moses said so," replied both the twins 

"Oh, then, of course it can't ! " laughed Perce. 
"And the wind wont change, and carry the kelp 
all oft", and land it on some other beach, as it did 
the last time I was coming to get sea-weed here. 
The wind clipped around to the nor'ard and north- 
east, and in the morning this beach, that had 
been covered with it, was as clean as a whistle ; 
while Coombs's Cove, where there had n't been 
any, was full of it." 

"Who 's going to wake Nicodemus in the 
morning ? " asked Moke. 

" The one who 's first awake himself," said Perce. 
And he sang, the others joining in : 

" ' Wake me tip,' was his charge. ' at the first break of day. 
Wake me up fur the great jubilee ! ' " 

After that they became silent. The fire died on 
the beach. The breakers plunged and drew back, 
with incessant noise, in the darkness ; the wind 
moaned in the woods, and whistled among the 
coarse sparse grass and wild peas that grew about 
the dunes. But notwithstanding the strangeness 
of their situation, the boys were soon asleep. 

Uncle Moses proved a true prophet. There was 
no rain in the huddling clouds that at one time 
overspread the sky. They broke and lifted, and 
bright stars peeped from under their heavy lids. 
Then the moon rose and silvered them, and shed 
a strange light upon the limitless, unresting, soli- 
tary waves. 

Chapter VII. 


For a long time Oily could see the boys by the 
light of their camp-fire, excepting when the tops 
of the rolling billows hid them from view. 

Although too far off at any time to recognize his 
friends, he made out snatches of the song then in 
vogue in his neighborhood ; and he believed the 
camping party to be Frog-End boys who had come 
to the beach for kelp. 

Sometimes they passed between him and the 
fire ; and finally they stood or crouched around it, 
as the wavering flames died down to a bright-red 
glow on the shore. To see them so near and so 
happy — it seemed to him that everybody was 
happy who was not paddling desperately in a frail 
skiff, against a relentless wind — to hear them 
singing and shouting, so wholly unconscious of him 
in his distress, was intolerable agony. 

" Oh, why can't they hear?" he exclaimed, in a 
voice to the last degree hoarse with calling for 
help. " Why could n't they look this way once? 
Now it is too late ! " 

He was by that time greatly exhausted ; for 
when not signaling and calling, he had been mak- 
ing frantic efforts to paddle the dory against the 
wind. At first he had used the oar-handle, but he 
found it wholly ineffectual. Then he had torn up 
one of the thwarts, but it was too short and too 
clumsy for his purpose ; and though for a time he 
seemed to make headway, the distance from the 
shore was steadily increasing. 

If he could have held the boat in its course, as 
with a pair of oars, he might have made progress even 
with that unwieldly paddle. But he lost time and 
strength in shifting it from side to side ; and, spite 
of all he could do, the wind and the waves would 
now and then give the light, veering skiff a turn, 
and he would suddenly find himself paddling out 
to sea ! However, those efforts prevented him 
from being blown speedily out of sight of land. 
And when the boys on the beach, after due prepara- 
tion, stuck their ears of green corn on the sharpened 
ends of sticks and roasted them in the fire, he 
still kept the little group in view. He had no 
doubt that they were cooking their supper. No 
wonder he wept with despair at the contrast of that 
cheerful scene with his own terrible situation ! 

The fire faded to a red eye of burning coals ; all 
other objects grew indistinct, excepting the black 
outline of the woods against the soft evening red 
of a rift in the sky, and one pure star brightening 
in those ethereal depths. Another starry beam, 
which he could plainly discern, but which was too 
low down for a star, Oily knew must be a light in 
one of the upper windows of the boarding-house. 




Was it in Mr. Hatville's room ? Had he re- 
turned and discovered the loss of his watch ? And 
could poor Oily hope ever to make restitution 
and explanations ? Suppose he should indeed be 
lost at sea ! Would it not be believed that he had 
yielded to temptation and had purposely run away 
with the watch ? 

The danger his life was in was enough for the 
wretched boy, without this fear for his reputation. 


He thought of his folks at home, — his mother and 
sisters, for his father was dead, — and he wondered 
if they would believe him capable of a folly so 
much greater than that he had in mind when he 
so innocently (as it seemed to him then, but not 
now) borrowed the bright bauble ! And what 
would Amy Canfield think? 

All vanity had been killed in him from the 
moment he found himself in actual peril. It made 
him sick at heart to remember the satisfaction he 

had so lately felt in his new clothes. He no longer 
drew the watch proudly from his pocket ; hardly 
once did he glance downward at the big seal and 
gold guard hooked in the button-hole of his vest — 
a hated sight to him now. 

When all hope of reaching the shore against 
such a wind was gone, he still struggled to keep 
the dory within hailing distance of the yacht, when 
it should come beating up from the northeast. 

But no yacht hove 
in sight ; and if 
it passed, it must 
have been under 
the shadow of 
the shore. Clouds 
closed again over 
the one bright 
star and the patch 
of silver light in 
the west. The 
utter desolation 
of night lay about 
him on the lonely, 
weltering waters. 
All along the 
coast now he 
could see occas- 
ional lights — the 
lights in happy 
dwellings ; but on 
the seaward side, 
only a faint gleam 
showed the line 
where sky and 
ocean met. There 
were no sounds 
but the ceaseless 
turmoil of the 
billows, the fre- 
quent slapping 
of a wave under 
the flat-bottomed 
boat, and his own 
fitful sobs. 

His last hope 
lay in crossing 
the track of some 
coaster or fishing-craft that might pick him up. 
But could that occur before morning? And could he 
expect that his ill-managed dory would ride safely 
all night on the increasing waves? The strong 
wind off shore, meeting the ocean swells, was 
blowing up a heavy chop-sea that threatened a 
new danger. What a night was before him, at 
the best ! 

Suddenly his hat blew off, and disappeared im- 
mediately on the black waves. 




The distant sails he had seen at first had 
vanished as the swift night shut down ; but now 
he discerned two dim lights in different directions, 
evidently far away. 

He was gazing after them, and looking anxiously 
for nearer lights or sails, when he was aware of 
a low, dark object just before him, rising from 
the deep. What could it be? — with something 
white flashing upon it ! And what was the sound 
he heard ? 

" The Cow and Calf! " he exclaimed, with sud- 
den excitement, almost as if he had seen a friend. 

Chapter VIII. 


"THE Old Cow" and "The Calf" arc two 

enormous ledges lying not far asunder, within 
sight from the coast in clear weather. "The 
Cow " is never completely submerged ; her bare 
brown back appears above the highest tides. 

" The Calf " is not so fortunate; the sea must 
be very calm at high water, when it is not buried 
in the surf. 

Near one end of it. to mark the position of the 
dangerous reef, a pole is anchored, rising out of 
the water with a slant that has gained for it the 
name of "The Calf's Tail." Often at high tide 
the tail only can be seen sticking out of the sea. 

What Oily saw and heard was the billows comb- 
ing over the end of one of those huge rocks. He 
wondered why he had n't thought of them before ; 
for it now occurred to him that if he could land on 
" The Old Cow," he might safely pass the night on 
her back, and be seen from the shore, or from 
some passing craft, in the morning. 

But which of the ledges was he approaching? 
Familiar as their forms were to him, seen from the 
shore, he could not in his strange position, in the 
night, and amid the dashing waves, decide whether 
he was coming upon "The Old Cow " or " The 

Trembling with fresh hope -and fear, and pad- 
dling cautiously, he strained his eyes in the dark- 
ness, to get the broad outline of the ledge against 
the faint sky-line. There was something awful in 
the sound of the surf on those desolate rocks. The 
surges leapt and fell, rushing along the reef and 
pouring in dimly-seen cataracts over the ledges, 
their loud buffets followed by mysterious gurglings 
and murmurings, which might well appall the 
heart of a wave-tossed boy. 

The wind was blowing him on; but it was still 
in his power to pass the end of the rock, or drive 
his dory upon the windward side, where the ocean 
swells broke with least force. If he could only be 

sure which rock it was ! But he could distinguish 
nothing. All was as strange to him as if he had 
been adrift on the lonesomest unknown sea in the 

If it was " The Calf," then " The Tail " should 
be at the other end, and " The Old Cow " beyond. 
If " The Cow," " The Calf" must be in the other 
direction, and a little farther seaward ; he might 
pass between the two. 

He was getting used to his clumsy paddle ; with 
it he kept his dory off as well as he could, but in 
a state of terrible anxiety, thinking his life might 
depend on what he should decide to do the next 
minute. He was still hesitating, when accident 
decided for him. 

The skiff was headed to the wind, against which 
he continued to paddle, when suddenly a billow 
shot over a sunken projection of the ledge, smiting 
the end of the boat with a force that slung it half 
about in an instant. 

Oily felt a small deluge of water dash over and 
drench him from behind. He was past thinking 
of his new clothes now ; he thought of the dory. 
Even then it might have escaped capsizing if it 
had not met at the same instant a cross-wave, 
which tumbled aboard from the other side. 

The two filled it so nearly that the water rushed 
cold across his knees ; and he knew that nothing he 
could do would prevent the boat from sinking. 
Indeed, as the very next wave swept in, it settled 
on one side, and then slowly rolled over. To 
save himself, Oily sprang up, grasping first the 
uppermost rail, then clinging to the bottom of the 
overturned skiff, until another billow swept him 

He was an accomplished swimmer, as I think I 
have said before ; and now that skill stood him in 
good stead. In the first moment of his immersion 
he lost his bearings ; but rising with a wave, he 
looked about him from its crest, and saw the little 
island not a hundred feet away. 

He made for it at once, directing his course to a 
spot which the overleaping surge did not reach. 

The waves were dashing all about the rock, to 
be sure ; and to land safely upon it at any point 
would require not only vigilance, but good fortune. 

I hardly know whether he was much frightened 
or not ; he himself could n't have told. He did n't 
stop for a moment to reason about the situation, 
but obeying the mere instinct of self-preservation, 
he swam to the ledge. 

He was lucky enough to find a spot where it 
sloped gently into the sea. He swam in on a wave, 
and as it subsided, he clung to the rock. 

The broken surface of the rock was covered with 
barnacles, which cut his hands; but he held on. 
They also scratched his knees through his torn 



clothing, as he climbed up to the smoother rocks 

The slant to the water was such that he could 
not, in the darkness, judge of his elevation above 
the sea-level ; nor could he determine, from that, 
whether he had been thrown upon " The Old 
Cow " or "The Calf." 

Yet everything depended upon the answer to 
that question. If on the greater rock, he was com- 
paratively safe ; if on the smaller, his respite would 
be brief — he might expect the next tide to carry 
him off. 

Groping about on the jagged summit, trying to 
identify the rock by its form, his foot plashed in a 
pool of water. He paused, startled by the thought 
that here was a means of deciding his fate. 

No doubt, much sea-spray dashed upon the back 
even of " The Old Cow." in rough weather. But 
copious rains had succeeded the last gale ; and so, 
if that little pool was on the large rock, the water 

(To te c 

it held could not be very salt. If on the back of 
"The Calf," it was the leavings of the last tide. 
He felt that his doom was in the taste of that water. 

He hesitated, heaving a sigh of dread ; then he 
stooped quickly and put his hand into the pool. 
He lifted the wet fingers to his lips, and immedi- 
ately grew faint — the water was bitterly salt. 

Still, after a little reflection, he would not give 
up all hope. The sea must have broken clear 
over "The Cow's" back, in the last storm ; and the 
rain might have had little effect in freshening the 
contents of the basin. He thought of another test. 

Barnacles live in the sea, or in receptacles of sea- 
water replenished at every tide. If he was upon 
the back of " The Old Cow," the pool would be 
free from them; if on "The Calf," there would 
be the usual incrustations abou f its edges. 

Once more he put down his groping hand ; 
and then he uttered a despairing wail. 

The barnacles were there ! 

imthiucd. ) 

VH l»fi ', n -y^\ ■ i 

A-"v i W ■ ' !.•■{'■■ '--' / - 







HE good 
lands ! " 
W hat's 
that ! " 
ly cried 
ed Aunt 
3 rah might 
1 exclaim 
in surprise. 
For as she 
sat knitting 
quietly and 
humming a 
quaint old tune 
of long ago, one 
she had learned 

as a child 

C-r-rash ! bang ! 
came a stone into the room, shiv- 
ering the window-pane, just miss- 
ing the swinging" lamp in the hall- 
way, making an ugly scar on the 
cabinet, and breaking into frag- 
ments a handsome vase. Then, 
as if satisfied with the mischief it had 
it rolled lazily across the floor, 
and finally stopped under the table, an inert, jag- 
ged bit of granite. 

Aunt Deborah, as the stone pursued its reckless 
course, placed her hands over her head, and 
shrank back into her chair, a frightened and un- 
willing witness to the destruction of her property. 
It was quite distressing. 

Besides the nervous shock, there was the broken 
window ; there was the cabinet showing a great 
white dent that could not easily be removed; and 
there, too, was the vase she had kept so many 
long years, lying shattered and ruined before her 

Aunt Deborah was one of the best and most 
kind-hearted of women ; but — she was human, and 
the sudden havoc wrought by the missile exasper- 
ated as well as frightened her. She rushed to the 
window and opened it in time to see three or four 
boys scampering down the street as fast as their 
legs could carrv them. 

By G. H. Baskette. 

" Oh, you young scapegraces ! " she cried. " If 
I could once lay hold on you, would n't I teach you 
a lesson ! " 

But the boys never stopped until they had dis- 
appeared around a friendly corner. Aunt Deborah 
was so overcome by the accident, and so intent 
upon watching the retreating boys to whom she 
desired to teach a lesson, that she did not at first 
notice a barefooted lad standing under the window 
on the pavement below, holding a battered old 
hat in his hand, and looking up at her with a scared 
face and tearful eyes. 

" Please, Miss," said the boy tremulously. 

" Oh ! Who are you ? Who threw that stone at 
my window?" called out Aunt Deborah, as she 
spied him. 

" Please, Miss," pleaded the boy, fumbling 
nervously his torn hat, " I threw it, but I did n't 
mean to do it." 

"Didn't mean to do it, eh?" replied Aunt 
Doborah, fiercely. " I suppose the stone picked 
itself up and pitched itself through my glass ! " 

" I was going to throw it down the street, but 
Bill Philper touched my arm, and it turned and 
hit your window," he explained. 

There was an air of frankness and truth about 
the boy, and the fact that he had not run away 
like the others (whom, somehow, Aunt Deborah 
held chiefly responsible for the outrage), caused 
her to relent a little toward him. 

" Come in here," she said, after eying him close- 
ly for a moment. 

The lad hesitated ; but summoning all his cour- 
age, he went up the steps, and soon stood in her 

"Do you see that " she said, pointing at the 
window — "and that" — (at the cabinet) — "and 
that? " — (at the broken vase) — "and that?" — (at 
the stone.) "Now, is n't that a fine performance ? " 

" I am very sorry," said the boy, the tears well- 
ing into his eyes again. 

He looked ruefully about at the damaged articles, 
and glanced at the stone, wishing heartily that he 
had never seen it. 

" Now, what 's to be done about it ? " asked she. 

" I don't know, ma'am," said he, very ill at 
ease. " I will try to pay you for it." 

" What can you pay, I should like to know?" 
she said, glancing at his patched coat and trousers 
and his torn hat. 



" I sell papers," said he; "and I can pay you 
a little on it every week." 

" What 's your name ? " she asked. 

" Sam Wadley," answered the boy. 

" Have you a father ?" 

" No, ma'am," replied Sam ; "he 's dead." 

" Have you a mother ? " 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" What does she do? " continued Aunt Deborah. 

" She sews, and I help her all I can, selling 

" How can you pay me anything then ? " 

" Please, ma'am, I '11 tell Mother all about it. 

" Let me see." Aunt Deborah put on her spec- 
tacles and made a critical survey of the room. 
"Window — fifty cents; vase — one dollar — I would 
n't have had it broken for five! — That '11 do — 
one dollar and a half. I shan't charge you for the 
dent in the furniture." 

" I 'II try to pay you something on it every 
week," said Sam. "There are some days when I 
don't make anything; but when I do, I '11 save it 
for you." 

"Very well," said Aunt Deborah; "you may 
go now." 

He thanked her, and went slowly out, while 


and she '11 be willing for me to pay you all I Aunt Deborah began to pick up the fragments 

make." strewn over the floor. 

" Well, now, we '11 see if you are a boy to keep " Oh, wait a moment ! " she cried, 

his word," said Aunt Deborah. Sam came back. 

" How much must I pay? " Sam incptired anx- " Take this stone out with you, and be careful 

■iously. what you do with it, next time," she said. "By 

6 9 6 



the way, if you wish to keep out of trouble, you 'd 
better not keep company with that Flipper boy — " 
Aunt Deborah had a rather poor memory for 
names — "if I had him, would n't I give him a 
lesson ! " 

She uttered the last sentence with such a relish, 
that Sam was glad enough to get away. He was 
afraid she might conclude to bestow upon him the 
salutary lesson which she had proposed to give 
" Flipper," as she called him. 

Sam hurried home as fast as he could. His 
mother, a pale, delicate woman whose wan feat- 
ures and sunken eyes showed the effects of too 
hard work, heard his simple tale, wiped away his 
tears and encouraged him in his resolve to pay 
for the damage he had done. 

From that day, Sam began to be very diligent, 
and to earn pennies in every honest way possible 
to him. And every week he carried some small 
amount to Aunt Deborah. 

"That boy has some good in him," she said 
when he had brought his first installment. And 
though she grew more kind toward him ever)' 
time he came, occasionally giving him a glass of 
milk, a sandwich or a cake, she rarely failed to 
warn him against the influence of that " Flipper" 

His young companions laughed at him for pay- 
ing his money to Aunt Deborah, and called him 
a coward for not running away when they ran ; 
but all they said did not turn him from his purpose. 

One evening he went with a cheerful heart to 
pay his last installment. 

As he passed the window of the sitting-room he 
glanced in. There sat Aunt Deborah, earnestly 
knitting. The lamplight fell upon her sober face 
and Sam wondered if she ever looked really smil- 
ing and pleasant. " It does n't seem as though she 
would be so stiff with a fellow," he said to him- 
self. Then, in response to her " Come in," he 
entered the room and handed her his money. 

" I believe that is all, ma'am," said he. 

" Yes, that pays the whole sum," said Aunt 
Deborah ; " you have done well." 

" I am still very sorry I have troubled you, and 
I hope you forgive me," he said. 

■• I do, with all my heart," said she earnestly. 

"Thank you," said Sam, as he started out. 
picking his old hat from the floor, where he had 
placed it on entering. 

" Come back," said Aunt Deborah, " I 've some- 
thing more to say to you." 

With a startled look he turned into the room. 

Aunt Deborah went to the cabinet and unlocked 

it. She first took out a pair of new shoes, then 
half a dozen pairs of socks, some underclothing, 
two nice shirts, a neat woolen suit, and lastly a 
good felt hat. 

" Sam," said she to the astonished lad, " I have 
taken your money, not because I wanted it, but 
because I wished to test you. I wished to see 
whether you really meant to pay me. That Flip- 
per boy would never have done it, I am sure. You 
have done so well in bringing me your little sav- 
ings that I have learned to like you very much. 
Now I wish to make you a present of these arti- 
cles. In the pocket of this jacket you will find the 
money you have paid me. I would n't take a cent 
of it. It is yours. You must keep working and 
adding to it, so that you can soon help your 
mother more. Go to work now with a light heart, 
and grow up a true and an honest man. Tell 
your mother that I say she has a fine son." 

In making this speech, Aunt Deborah's features 
relaxed into a pleasant smile; and Sam smiled 
too, and was so pleased that he could hardly utter 
his thanks. 

" And mind you, " continued she, suddenly 
changing the current of his thoughts, " don't asso- 
ciate with that Flipper boy ! " 

" Please, ma'am," said Sam, feeling a twinge of 
conscience that his former companion should bear 
so much of the blame, " you have been very kind 
to me, but Bill Philper did n't know the stone 
would turn as it did, and break your window." 

" Then why did he run away ? " inquired Aunt 
Deborah somewhat fiercely. " It 's quite proper 
that you should try to excuse him, Sam ; but I 
should like to teach him a good lesson ? " 

" You — you — have taught me a good lesson," 
said Sam, with a blushing face, " and I — I — thank 
you very much for it." 

Aunt Deborah smiled benignly again, and 
warmly bidding Sam to come often to see her, 
she let him out at the door. 

She felt very happy as Sam disappeared down 
the street, and he was very happy, as he hurried 
home with his great bundle, and told his mother all 
about it, which made that good woman very hap- 
py, too. So they were very happy all around. 

And it all came about because Sam had stood up 
like a brave boy to confess his wrong, which is 
always manly ; and had offered reparation for it, 
which is always right ; and had gone forward, in 
spite of the taunts of his companions, denying 
himself pleasures and comforts in order to do 
that which he knew to be right, which is always 


6 97 


^ e * e j2%L i ! otd lJ!i? tui ' Csf & ' j&B**tuun,> 

%y JLlliitdL tney- Say; 
Once traveled til loneliest Way; 
gov he traveled \>y night 

Lest he should take pigKt 
U\in&$ lie could ;See i n ttf dov 



; U S I N E S S . 



By George J. Manson. 


oat- bui ld- 
NG is by 
no means 
one of the 
"lost arts," 
although in 
this age of 
steam and 
iron, the 
"good old 
days " of 
the ship- 
builders are 
a thing of 
the past. Of 
late years, 
there has 
been a 

marked in- 
crease in the trade, and although the work is con- 
fined principally to yachts and smaller craft, the 
steady growth of this branch of boat-building offers 
excellent inducements to any young man whose 
tastes lie in that direction. 

I know of one boy at least, now sixteen years of 
age, who intends to fit himself during the next five 
or six years for the occupation ; and his father, a 
prominent and highly successful naval architect, 
believes that there is a very promising future for 
American boat-building. 

I take it for granted that the future boat-builder 
has, as a boy, been fond of boats. He has not only 
taken advantage of the rivers and ponds near his 
house, has navigated them in scow, in row-boat 
or in sail-boat, but I will suppose that, from the 
time he has been the owner of a jack-knife, he has 
been a constructor of toy boats. And, as he has 
grown older and become the possessor of a tool- 
chest, or, at least, of a gauge, a mallet, a saw, a 
plane, and a good knife, he has wrought out mini- 
ature cutters and schooners, possibly a square- 
rigged ship, all of which have been much admired 
by his young companions. If it has been his ob- 
ject in life to become a boat-builder, he could not 
have been better employed during the hours that 
have not been taken up with school duties. 

In every business and profession there is some 
one object above all others sought after, upon 
which success may be said to depend. The 
orator endeavors to arouse our enthusiasm, the 
poet appeals to our sentiments, the lawyer to our 
reason, the clergyman to our conscience. The 
genius of the boat-builder lies in the one word 
"form." The one thing more than all others for 
which he aims to have a reputation is the ability 
to give a good shape to the mass of wood or iron 
coming from his hands, whether it be a man-of- 
war or a sail-boat. And so it was good for the boy 
that he made boats and models of boats. He was 
getting, as the naval architect would say, " form 
impressed upon his brain." It may have been, it 
probably was, a bad form, an incorrect form, but 
it was something from which to start. At all 
events, the boy has formed a speaking acquaint- 
ance with the occupation he is about to enter. 

I shall assume that at the age of sixteen he has 
finished his school studies, has a good knowledge 
of arithmetic and algebra, and has gone through 
seven books in Euclid, with special reference to 
being proficient in the fourth and seventh books. 
Two years before this, we will suppose, he has ex- 
pressed a desire to be a boat-builder. He has 
made a model of some kind of a boat, and he has, 
as occasions have permitted, visited such ship- 
yards as could be found in his vicinity, and care- 
fully watched the men while they were at work. 
At last, at the age of sixteen, he enters the office 
of a thoroughly competent naval architect, who 
either is or has been a practical ship-builder. The 
naval architect stands in the same relation to 
ship-building that the architect of houses does to 
house-building, with this difference, — not only 
does he make the plan, but very often he executes 
it as well. 

The beginner will find his quarters very pleas- 
ant. The room will be light, cheerful, and quiet. 
On the walls he will probably see pictures of famous 
yachts or other vessels; there will be a small library 
of technical books of reference, which he will have 
occasion to consult later on ; there may be another 
student with whom he will chat now and then 
during the day ; or his teacher, while they are at 
work, may give him some stirring bits of yachting 
reminiscence. I only mention this to show that 
there is none of that strict discipline to which the 

"Copyright by G. J. Manson, 18S4. 


b 99 

boy has been accustomed at school. The fact 
is, it is not needed, for, to use the language 
of a well-known ship-builder, "it is a fascinating 
occupation; it grows upon you; and the longer 
you are in it, the better you like it, that is, of 
course, if you like boats and everything pertain- 
ing to them." 

The boy will at first be given the drawing of a 
midship, or central, section of a boat, and required 
to put a body to it, to give it a bow, a stern — in 
short, to give to the boat its form. After working 
in that way for a while, he will make more extended 
plans, until he is able to make the full design of a 
vessel. He will remain with this naval architect for 
the space of a year; and, by that time, he should 
have acquired a very good knowledge of form. 

It is a fact that boys in England who choose this 
occupation for their life-work can more easily 
obtain a thorough education in it than can be had 
by youths in our country. In England, and in 
France, Denmark, and other European countries, 
there are schools where special technical instruction 
is given, and many of these are close to large ship- 
yards, where the practical work of ship-building 
can constantly be seen. The question now arises, 
therefore, shall the boy go to England and get the 
benefit of this instruction? It is by no means nec- 
essary that he should go there ; but if he has 
begun to learn while young, he can spare the 
time, and his parents know whether they can 
spare the money which such a journey and resi- 
dence would entail. If he decides to go, he will 
remain away for three or four years. 

Suppose, however, it is decided that he can not 
go abroad. It has cost him for the year's instruc- 
tion he has received from the naval architect, with 
whom he had been studying, about $1000; or, he 
has given his services as a draughtsman, paid $500, 
and during the twelve months has " picked up " 
such knowledge as he could without receiving any 
regular instruction. His case of drawing-instru- 
ments has cost him from $50 to $250, depending on 
the number of instruments, the manner in which 
they are finished and the style of the case in which 
they are kept. Let us assume that he has been 
a full-pay pupil. His time is, of course, his own. 
It would be a good plan, after he has acquired 
some theoretical knowledge of the business, to 
regularly visit a shipyard and there begin to do 
the practical work which falls to the lot of the 
boat-builder ; studying in the office one-half the 
time and working in the yard the other half. 
Now you will see, as I observed before, that boat- 
building is a profession and a trade. It is possible 
to be simply a naval architect and only make de- 
signs for boats, but it is not advisable ; it is better, 
by all means, to have the practical knowledge 

which is obtained working among the men in the 

They do not now apprentice boys as they did 
some fifty years ago. I have before me an indent- 
ure paper of a ship-builder (now alive) dated in the 
year 1S25. In it he promises "not to waste his 
master's goods ; not to contract matrimony within 
the said term ; not to play at cards, dice, or any 
unlawful game, nor frequent ale-houses, dance- 
houses, or play-houses, but in all things behave 
himself as a faithful apprentice ought to do during 
the said term." There are no such rules laid 
down nowadays. Perhaps all the boys are so good 
that none are needed. All that needs to be done 
now is for the boy to make his verbal agreement 
with the owner of the shipyard, and go to work. 

And now a word or two as to this practical work 
which will cover the second method of learning 
boat-building as mentioned at the beginning of my 
paper. The boy who has not had the benefit of 
any previous training with an instructor may have 
to commence with turning the grindstone. The 
tools used in boat-building are in such constant use 
that they grow dull very soon, and the grindstone 
is kept going almost the whole of the day. Be- 
sides, the work being very heavy, the men gen- 
erally work in couples, so that the learner when he 
is not turning the grindstone is assisting in lifting 
the heavy timbers that have to be used. The first 
tool he is generally permitted to use is the saw ; 
then he begins to use the adze ; then he is 
trusted with the ax, and helps get out the plank- 
ing and timber for the frame of the ship. 

Then comes the difficult part of construction. 
The apprentice must have learned all this work 
with the tools (of which I am only able to make a 
passing mention), before he comes to the construct- 
ive part ; that is, the part that our pupil has been 
studying with the naval architect. 

Before the building of the ship is commenced, a 
small wooden model is made, to give the owner 
and the builder an idea of what she is going to 
look like. 

" A little model the master wrought, 
Which should be to the larger plan 
What the child is to the man." 

Doubtless, you have seen such models. They 
are built sometimes on a scale of a quarter of an 
inch to a foot ; they are made of pieces of cedar 
and pine wood, placed alternately, and show the 
shape and whole arrangement of one side of the 
vessel. This model is glued, on its flat side, to 
a piece of board, for greater convenience in exam- 

From this model, "life-size" plans of the ship 
are made with chalk on the floor of a long, wide 
room, like a big garret, which is used especially for 




this purpose. It will not be necessary to enter 
into a technical description of these plans. There 
are three of them. — the sheer plan, the half- 
breadth plan, and the body plan. They show the 
position of the different planks to be used in the 
construction ot the ship. To gain a rough idea 
of these plans, take a cucumber, decide which you 
will call the bottom and which the top, and cut it 
in the middle, lengthwise, from end to end. Look 
into its interior and fancy that it is covered with 
lines, both horizontal and vertical — and that will 
give you a very rough idea of the sheer plan. By 
laying the cucumber on its side and cutting it 
lengthwise, you will have a notion of the half- 
breadth plan. A division in the middle (cutting- 
it in two parts, so that you can see the whole 
circumference) may suggest to you the body plan. 
This can not be made very clear, not even with 
drawings, because it is the most technical part of 
the work ; but its object is apparent. From these 
three plans, taken from different points of view, 
the boat-builder can locate the position of every 
piece of plank in his vessel. So true is this that 
I understand it is possible to number the planks 
of a ship, and send them off to some distant 
country, where a ship-builder can construct the 
vessel without ever having seen the design. 

A great deal of calculation and figuring enters 
into this part of the work, but much of it has been 
made easy by the aid of a man (now dead, I be- 
lieve) named Simpson, the author of what are 
called " Simpson's Rules." These rules are incor- 
porated in small pocket handbooks which contain, 
in addition, a large number of tables, rules, and 
formulas pertaining to naval architecture. The 
most popular handbook of this character in 
England is said to be "Mackrow's Naval Archi- 
tect and Ship-builders' Assistant," and in our 
country, " Haswell's Engineers' Pocket-book of 
Tables." These, however, are only aids in mak- 
ing calculations, and are very much like the inter- 
est tables you have probably seen, which save the 
trouble of going through the figuring in detail. 
There are a great many books which will be inter- 
esting and valuable to the young ship-builder. 
To give you some idea of their character, I copy 

the following from the table of contents of a 
recent standard work: "The displacement and 
buoyancy of ships;" ''The oscillations of ships in 
still water;" "The oscillation of ships among 
waves;" "Methods of observing the rolling and 
pitching motions of ships;" "The structural 
strength of ships," etc. 

These titles may not at present indicate a very 
promising literary feast, but when the young boat- 
builder has mastered the rudiments of the tech- 
nical part of the profession, he will read and re- 
read such productions with as much pleasure as 
he now peruses the stories in St. NICHOLAS. 

I have not entered into the details of iron ship- 
building, the practical part of which the boy will 
learn in the same yard in which he learns to work 
in wood ; for it is presumed that he is going to 
some large yard to obtain his instruction. Indeed, 
in this occupation it is the practical part that is 
the easiest and the most interesting to young learn- 
ers. They are apt to slight the theoretical knowl- 
edge required and to long to spend their time in the 
shipyard with real tools, doing real work, for a 
real ship. With the boy who, through force of 
circumstances, has to enter on the life of a journey- 
man and earn wages, there is more excuse for 
hastening to that branch of the work than for the 
lad who is better situated in life. The journeyman 
will learn construction last and from his master. 
Under the plan I have suggested, the other lad will 
learn the general principles of construction before 
he goes to the shipyard ; at least he will not have 
to commence with turning the grindstone. His 
first few visits will be confined to watching the men 
at their work ; then he will gradually make him- 
self familiar with the use of the different tools. 

The journeyman will receive at first $i a day ; 
during the second year, $1.50 a day, and be grad- 
ually advanced until he receives the regular wages, 
at the present time from $3 to $3.25 a day. It 
would not be advisable to make any estimate of 
the profits of boat-building as a business, for, no 
matter what they are now, by the time my young 
reader has started a shipyard, they may be entirely 
different, owing to the increase or decrease in the 
cost of material and labor. 




''this little pig went to market. 

By Malcolm Douglas. 

Oh, they were as happy as happy could be, 
Those two little boys who were down by the sea, 
As each with a shovel grasped tight in his hand, 
Like a sturdy young laborer dug in the sand ! 

And it finally happened, while looking around, 
That, beside a big shell, a small star-fish they found, — 
Such a wonderful sight, that two pairs of blue eyes 
Grew large for a moment with puzzled surprise. 

Then — " I know," said one, with his face growing bright, 
'■ It 's the dear little star that we 've watched every night ; 
But last night, when we looked, it was nowhere on high, 
So, of course, it has dropped from its home in the sky ! " 






By Daniel C. Beard. 

"Well, if that is n't the queerest sight ! " exclaimed a passenger on 
the cars going from Flushing to New York, last Independence Day. 

And all the passengers on that train, and on all other trains during the 
day, echoed the same words. It was a very strange occurrence. 

Away up in the blue 
sky, and all alone, like a 
new declaration of inde- 
pendence, fluttered that 
soul-stirring piece of bunt- 
ing, the stars and stripes. 
Not a sign of pole or sup- 
port of any kind could the 
sharpest eye discern ; and 
yet, as steadily as if fixed 
on the dome of the na- 
tional capital, it waved its 
gay stripes in the joyous 
breeze. It was a very 
mysterious flag. 

There was, however, 
one individual who was 
both able and willing to 
clear away the mystery — 
a certain jovial man who, 
on the morning of that 
particular day, sat ill 
exceedingly airy attire on 
the front porch of the 
boat-house of the Nereus 
Boat Club. As his striped 
shirt, knee-breeches, and skull-cap 
indicated, Captain Jack Walker was an oarsman. 

He afterward explained to his faithful crew that he 
had gone to the boathouse early that morning, and 
while there had been struck with a novel idea. The 
result of that idea was the mysterious flag which was 
waving over the salt marsh by Flushing Bay, and was 
puzzling the brains of many good citizens. 

Fastened to the top of the flagpole of the club's boat- 
house was the end of a piece of hempen twine. By 
following that piece of twine, which ran away into space 
at an angle of sixty degrees, the eye came at length to 
the floating flag. By looking closely, moreover, one 
could gradually discern that from the flag the twine ran 
up five or six hundred feet higher to a tiny kite — 
tiny, as seen away up there in the blue ether ; but, 
in fact, a monster kite. 

Captain Jack had first sent up that great kite which 
some one had left at the boathouse, and had let it out five 
or six hundred feet ; then he took a flag about five feet 
lontr, which belonged to one of the boats, and fastened 



the upper end of its stick firmly to the lutestring. 
He next broke the lower end of the flagstick so as 
to leave a short projection (a), just long enough for 
him to fasten a piece of twine to it. 

Then he again let the kite out, and also the string 
he had attached to the lower end of the flagstick. As 
soon as the flagstick was vertical, the line a, b (see 
preceding page) was knotted securely to the kite- 
string at b. All that was necessary then was to 
let out about five hundred feet more twine, and Cap- 

tain Jack's Fourth-of-July kite was soon gayly flying. 
There was to be a regatta that afternoon, how- 
ever, and the gallant oarsman could not sit idly- 
holding a kitestring in his hand. So he hauled 
down the boat club's flag, tied the kitestring to 
the flag-halyards and then hoisted both flag and 
kitestring to the top of the flagpole ; and so his 
Fourth-of-July banner floated serenely in the sky 
all day long, — a beautiful sight, and an object of 
much surprise and wonder to all who saw it. 


If J bad a big kite, 
V/itb a very short tail, 
/\nd a Vepy stout copd, — 
/\nd tbepe carrje a g>eat gale 

I 'd bold fast to the str>ir;§, 
/\r?d au3ay nie iiiould fly, 
I apd i7?y kite, 
Up, up to the sky ! 



ijht bioQes 

ourest or HifiQWinrjs 


T I P P I E AND J I M M I E . 




•mm , 




By Mary L. French. 

Tippie and Jimmie had come over to play with 
Ajax. Tip's whole name is Tippecanoe. The boys 
call him a black and tan, but Bessie calls him a 
darling. He has a little black shining nose that 
he is always sticking into everything, and a little 
smooth, tapering tail that he is always wagging. 
Jimmie's name is James Stuart; he is a little 
Maltese kitten, with gentle blue eyes, and soft fur 
that is always ready to be smoothed, and claws 
that are never used where they can hurt, and a 
purr that is always wound up. 

Tippie and Jimmie live together, and eat to- 
gether, and are the best of friends. 

Ajax is the kitten that lives next door. He is jet 
black, excepting a little white spot where his cravat 
should have been tied. And he has a long black tail 
that often waves over his back like a banner. He 
has large green eyes that snap and shine when he 
plays, and he has just begun to look for mice. 

One day Tippie and Jimmie came around to the 
kitchen door of the house where Ajax lived, and 
looked in. 

They could not see Ajax, so Jimmie began to 
climb up the screen door, sticking his claws into 
the holes. He had not climbed far before the 
lady of the house saw him, and she said : 

" Here 's Jimmie looking for Ajax. Come, Ajax, 
where are you ? " 

Ajax was asleep on the lounge, but he jumped 
up and came running to the door, for he comes 
when he is called, " quicker than any of the other 
children," Mamie says. 

He touched noses with Jimmie, and then he took 
his visitors around to the front porch. There, he 
and Jimmie leaped upon a chair and shook their 
paws at Tippie, who was on the floor. Then Tip- 
pie got upon another chair, and Ajax ran under it 
and reached up to play with him. 

It really seemed as if they knew how pretty they 
looked. After a while, they all three had a good 

race up and down, over chairs, under chairs, and 
through chairs. Sometimes Ajax stood on the 
back of a chair and poked his paw at Tippie, and 
sometimes he ran to the top of a high rocking- 
chair and jumped down to the porch railing. Jim- 
mie was not so venturesome, however. 

Soon they grew tired of such play, and then they 
rushed out-of-doors, and down upon the grass. 
There, Tippie began to tease Jimmie. He pushed 
him over, and stepped upon him, and nosed him, 
and even bit him gently, till Jimmie suddenly cried 
out, •' Meow-ow-ow ! " 

Ajax had been quietly looking on, with a shade 
of contempt on his handsome countenance; but 
when he heard that appeal, he rushed at Tippie and 
pushed him away from Jimmie and scratched him, 
and chased him from one end of the yard to the 
other, two or three times. 

When they stopped to rest after their run, Ajax 
settled himself comfortably on the grass, perfectly 
quiet, except for the tip of his tail, which moved 
just a little. Tippie watched that tail with longing. 
He danced around and around Ajax. He pranced 
forward and skipped back, and practiced all his 
dancing-steps, before he dared touch it. At last 
he boldly rushed upon it, and a moment later Ajax 
held him fast around the neck, and with heads 
close together, and smothered growls of happiness, 
the cat and the dog were rolling over and over. 
Then, they suddenly let go, and stood half a foot 
apart, glaring at each other for a second, before 
they rushed together again, and went through the 
whole frolic once more. 

Mamie and Herbert had seen it all while building 
ships, in the side yard, and as they watched the 
grand closing scene, Herbert, in the tone of an 
oracle, announced, 

The Moral: 

" It is good to be good-natured, but bad to be 
imposed upon." 


By Charles R. Talbot. 

I TELL you," said Robbie, eating his peach, 

And giving his sister none, 
I believe in the good old saying that each 

Should look out for Number One." 

Vol. XIII.— 45. 

' Why, yes," answered Katie, wise little elf, 
" But the counting should be begun 
With the other one instead of yourself, — 
And he should be Number Ope." 





By Eva Lovett Carson. 

A SUDDEN tumult arose one day, 

In the nursery overhead. 
'T was like wild horses a-galloping there, 

Or a whole procession led. 
Nursie, with face of terror, 

Deserted her cup of tea, 
And rushed up the stair, in a state of despair, 

To see what the noise might be. 

She found in the room three Zulu chiefs 

Prancing across the floor. 
Their faces beamed, as they danced and screamed, 

And their arms waved more and more. 
In a corner sat Ted, the baby, 

Silent and pale with fright : 
We 're amusing the baby — Oh, Nurse, come and see ! " 

Cried the Zulus in great delight. 

" Oh, horrors ! " cried Nursie in anger, 

Rushing to poor little Ted. 
" To go on that way, such ritfic-u-lous play ! — 

'T will put the child out of his head ! " 
— With expressions of injured goodness, 

Stood Dudley, and Gordon, and Fred, 
" Why, Nursie, how mean ! — We should think you 'd have seen, 

We 're amusing the baby ! " they said. 




By Palmer Cox. 

The Brownies heard the news with glee, 

That in a city near the sea 

A spacious building was designed 

For holding beasts of every kind. 

From polar snows, from desert sand, 

From mountain peak, and timbered land, 

Less time it took the walls to scale 
Than is required to tell the tale. 
The art that makes the lock seem weak, 
The bolt to slide, the hinge to creak, 
Was theirs to use as heretofore, 
With good effect, on sash and door; 
And soon the band stood face to face 
With all the wonders of the place. 

To Brownies, as to children dear, 
The monkey seemed a creature queer ; 
They watched its skill to climb and cling 
By either toe or tail to swing ; 
Perhaps they got some hints that might 
Come well in hand some future night, 
When climbing up a wall or tree, 
Or chimney, as the case might be. 

Then off to other parts they 'd range 
To gather 'round some creature strange; 
To watch the movements of the bear, 
Or at the spotted serpents stare. 

The mammoth turtle from its pen 
Was driven 'round and 'round again, 
And though the coach proved rather slow 
They kept it hours upon the go. 

The beasts with claw and beasts with hoof, 
All met beneath one slated roof. 
That night, like bees before the wind, 
With home in sight, and storm behind, 
The band of Brownies might be seen, 
All scudding from the forest green. 

Said one, " Before your face and eyes 
I '11 take that snake from where it lies, 
And like a Hindoo of the East, 
Benumb and charm the crawling beast, 
Then twist him 'round me on the spot 
And tie him in a sailor's knot." 




Another then was quick to shout, 
We 'II leave that snake performance out ! 
I grant you all the power you claim 
To charm, to tie, to twist and tame ; 
But let me still suggest you try 
Your art when no one else is nigh. 
Of all the beasts that creep or crawl 
From Rupert's Land to China's wall, 
In torrid, mild, or frigid zone, 
The snake is best to let alone." 

Against this counsel, seeming good, 
At least a score of others stood. 
Said one, "My friend, suppress alarm. 
There 's nothing here to threaten harm. 
Be sure the power that mortals hold 
Is not denied the Brownies bold." 

So from the nest, without ado, 

A bunch of serpents soon they drew. 

And harmlessly as silken bands 

The snakes were twisted in their hands. 

Some hauled them freely 'round the place 

Some braided others in a trace ; 

Around the sleeping lion long 
They stood an interested throng, 
Debating o'er its strength of limb, 
Its heavy mane or visage grim. 

And every knot to sailors known, 
Was quickly tied, and quickly shown. 
Thus 'round from cage to cage they went, 
For some to smile, and some comment 
On Nature's way of dealing out 
To this a tail, to that a snout 
Of extra length, and then deny 
To something else a fair supply. 

But when the bear and tiger growled, 
And wolf and lynx in chorus howled, 
And starting from its broken sleep, 
The monarch rose with sudden leap, 
And, bounding round the rocking cage, 
With lifted mane, it roared with rage, 
And thrust its paws between the bars,— 
Until it seemed to shake the stars, 



A panic seized the Brownies all, 
And out they scampered from the hall, 
As if they feared incautious men 
Had built too frail a prison pen ; 

And though the way was long and wild, 
With obstacles before them piled, 
They never halted in their run 
Until the forest shade thev won. 





Dear St. Nicholas : I want to tell little boys and girls about my two 
pets. One is a hen. She lives all alone, and leaves her coop every night, and 
goes in the barn, and flies up on old Jim's back, and sleeps there all night. 
Old Jim is a horse. Old Jim has a blanket for cold nights. It is an old 



one, and there is a hole in it on the top, and the old hen walks all around till 
she finds that hole, and puts her feet in there where it is warm, and there we 
find her every morning. 

My other funny pet is an old cat, named Catharine. She has only three 
feet, but I liked her just as well as I ever did, till last summer, when one morn- 
ing we found the bird-cage door pushed in, and the bird was gone. We 
have another cat. We don't know but the bird flew away; but who pushed 
the door in ? I don't like any cats so well now. Your friend, 




Tins little clog never did like cats. His 
name is " Dude." He wears a fine col- 
lar, and he always likes to look neat and 
clean. But he can not look nice after the 
cats see him, for they will not let him alone. 
They do not like him, and when he walks 
out on the street they run up to him and 
scratch his smooth coat, and spoil his clean 
collar, and pull his long ears out of curl, 
and tease him, and push him about ; and 
then they run away before he can catch 
them. So " Dude " hates cats, and will not 
go near them any more. How funny he 
looks ! I do believe he sees a cat now ! How wide open his eyes are ! 
He does not like to run away, but I think he will run if it is a cat 
that he sees. Don't you ? 




■ *■■- i\ 



Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : 

If I drum in the house, 
" Oh, what a noise you make ! " 
Sighs Mamma. " Baby '11 wake ! " 

If in the garden green 

I drum, our Bridget cries : 
" Ye '11 mak' me spile the pies 

And cakes ! I can not think '. 

That droom destroys me wit ! 

Be off, me b'y. — or emit ! " 
If I drum in the street, 
Out comes Miss Peters, quick. 
And says her ma is sick ; 
Or Doctor Daniel Brown 
Calls from his window: '"Bub, 
That dreadful rub-a-dub 
Confuses my ideas. 
My sermon is not done. 
Run on, my little son ! " 

The creeps crawl up my back 
When I am still, and oh, 
Nobody seems to know 
How very tired I get 
Without some sort of noise, 
Such as a boy enjoys ! 

Last summer, on the farm, 

I used to jump and shout, 

For Grandpa Osterhout 

And Grandma both are deaf. 

But soon some neighbors came 

And said it was a shame. 

The way I scared them all. 

They called my shouts "wild yells." 

And asked if I had "spells" 

Or " fits, or anything." 

You see, grown people all 
Forget thev once were small. 

Now, is n't there one place 
Where "wriggley" tired boys 
Can make a stunning noise 
And play wild Injun-chief, 
And Independence-day, 
And not be sent away ? 
Or was that place left out? 

Dear Jack, please tell me true ; 

I Ve confidence in you. 

Your friend without end, 


This is a very touching epistle, my hearers, and 
Tommy has my hearty sympathy. There must 
be such a place as he is looking for, though the 
Deacon says that in the course of a long life he 
has never happened upon the exact locality. Ac- 
cording to the Little School-ma'am, too, it is not 
described in any of the geographies ; but she says 
that, for the sake of all concerned, it is very desira- 
ble that the missing paradise of little drummer 
boys should be discovered ; — to which the Deacon 
adds, " Perhaps that 's why the grown folk wish 
to find the North Pole." 

While we are upon this subject, here is a letter 
describing some tiny drummers that make almost 
as much noise as patriotic youngsters, and do 
quite as much mischief. To his credit, however, 
it must be said that this other small musician only 
makes his appearance as a drummer once in sev- 
enteen years. Is he bent on setting an example, 
I wonder ? He is called 


Dear Jack : The seventeen-year locust is n'talocust at all. This 
may seem a strange thing to say, but it is true, nevertheless. The 
locust looks very much like a grasshopper, while the seventeen- 
year cicada, which is the insect's proper name, looks a great deal 
more like a gigantic fly than anything else. 

There is a cicada which comes every year, and is also wrongly 
called a locust. Anybody who has been in the country about har- 
vest-time has heard the shrill noise made by this cicada and prob- 
ably has come upon his cast-off" shell sticking to a fence-rail or a 

The seventeen-year cicada is a cousin of the one-year chap : though, 
as he comes only once in every seventeen years, he is probably only 
a far-away cousin. Fancy spending the best part of your life prowl- 
ing about in the darkness underground and then coming up into the 
sunlight with a gorgeous pair of wings, only to diem a short time ! 

That is what the seventeen-year cicada does. In the very first place, 
it is an egg which its mother deposits in a tiny hole in a twig. In a 
few weeks it makes its way out of the egg and drops to the ground, 
into which it burrows, and in which it remains for nearly seventeen 
years before it is prepared for life above ground. 

When, at last, it is ready for the bright sunlight, it may be one 
foot from the surface or it may be ten feet deep in the ground. In 
either case it begins to dig upward until it finds its way out, when it 
climbs up the nearest tree and fastens itself by its sharp claws to a 
leaf or twig. There it waits until its back splits open, and behold ! 
it immediately crawls out of itself, so to speak. 

The new insect is a soft, dull fellow at first, but he grows as if he 
had been storing up energy for seventeen yeais for just that one 
purpose. Within an hour, two pairs of most beautiful wings have 
grown, and in a few hours more it has become hard and active. 

The female cicadas are quiet enough, but the males are as noisy 
as so many little boys with new drums. Indeed, they do have 
drums themselves. Just under their wings are drums made of shiny 
membrane as beautiful as white silk, and these are kept rattling 
almost all the time. 

One cicada can make noise enough . but imagine the din of 
milli >ns of them all going at the same true. It sounds as if all the 



frogs in the country had come together to try to drown the noise of 
a saw-mill. Now it is the saw-mill you hear, and now the frogs. 

It sounds like 
a big story to say 
millions, but if 
you could go into 
the woods where 
they are, you 
might be willing 
to say billions. I 
have counted over a thousand cast-off shells on one small tree, and 
on one birch leaf I have seen twelve shells. And the earth in some 
places is like a sieve from the holes made by the cicadas as they 
came out. 

But within a few weeks from the insects' first appearance their eggs 
have been laid and the cicadas have all died. A great many of 
them are eaten by the birds and chickens, but most of them simply 
can not live any longer. Yours truly, 

John- R. Coryell. 


As IT appears from Mr. Coryell's letter that the 
seventeen-year cicada is only an imitation locust, 
I shall give you a portrait of another member of 
the family who is, perhaps, more nearly related to 
the insect he is named after. At all events, he is 
certainly more like a grasshopper than is the 
seventeen-year cicada. The grasshopper that lives 
in this part of the world is a fine fellow to hop, 
as you know, but he always lights on his feet, and 
looks as composed and as much at his ease as if 
he had walked to the spot in the most dignified 

Well, now look at this picture! See one absurd 
fellow lying on his back and pawing the air with 

who gently alight on your clothes as you run 
through the grass, stop a moment to stare at you 
with their great goggle 
eyes, and then take leave 
without saying " good- 
morning " ? 

He is no less than a 
cousin, I assure you, 
from the Far West, the 
great plains where few 
beasts, birds, or insects 
'. can find enough to live 
r. -^.j; ' upon. This fellow does 
•Uvj ' not suffer for food ; he 
is the biggest of his 
family in America, and 
his curious performances 
have brought him several 
names. By some people he 
is called " the clumsy grasshop- 
per," and by others he is dubbed 
" the great lubber locust," while by the 
scientific men, as usual, he has been given 
Latin name. Of course, you will be so 
eager to know it that you will wish to find it out for 
yourselves ! 


By the way, a story is told of a dog that was 
fond of snapping up grasshoppers, and eating them. 
In one of his journeys with his master, he chanced 
to fall among those queer grasshoppers — the 
lubber locusts. As he ran along through the grass, 
his feet started up hundreds of the clumsy fellows, 



■ • ■ -' 

all his long legs, and another, like a circus clown, 
standing on his own foolish green head. Would 
you think these awkward and ridiculous creatures 
bore any relationship to the grave little hoppers 

and, in trying to jump out of his way, they came 
down in groups upon him, as you see in the picture. 
Some stood on their heads upon his back; others 
turned somersaults over his ears, and a few struck 
him full in the face. Besides being impertinent 
they were very large, each two or three times the 
size and weight of one of our modest little hoppers. 
So poor Tom was first annoyed, and then scared. 
One or two, or even half a dozen, he could eat up or 
drive away, but a hundred were too many, and at 
last Tom dropped his head and tail and ran for his 
life, while his master scolded, and his master's 
friend laughed at the droll sight of a big dog run- 
ning away from grasshoppers. 





Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be 

examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions 

will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

If C. F. H. will send us her address, we shall gladly forward to her 
a number of letters sent us by readers of St. Nicholas, in answer 
to her query. 

La Crescent. 

Dear St. Nicholas: While reading in the November number 
of St. Nicholas about "Our Joe," 1 thought some of the St. 
Nicholas readers would be interested in hearing about our Joe. 
Our Joe is a Broncho pony that belonged to Rain-in-the-face, a 
chief in one of Sitting Bull's bands. When the ponies were taken 
and driven down in a drove, Our Joe got loose from the others and 
was caught somewhere near here. His name was Joe, but when 
Papa brought him home and we saw how little he was, we called 
him Little joe, and when we rode him he went so easy we named 
him Little joe Dandy. 

We have a little red cart we call the dump, to drive him in. He is 
such a funny little fellow that everybody has to take a second look at 
him. I am five feet tall, and his shoulders are not quite as high as 
mine; his hair in winter is as thick and long as a buffalo's; his tail 
touches the ground, and his mane hangs far down on his shoulders, 
and is always stuck full of burrs in summer. His color is iron-gray, 
if it 's anything, but it's hard to tell what color he is. I had my 
picture taken on horseback, and he looks as if he was about ready 
to fall asleep, but he has life in him if he takes a notion to go ! He 
is mean to the boys. He picked my brother up by the shoulder and 
shook him, and one day he kicked Papa. 

There was a pair of them — Our Joe and a Little Buckskin. The 
Buckskin would bunt his head against Joe, as a signal to go, and 
then they would make things fly ! Every one who knew the pony 
before we got him says he was so ugly, it was dangerous to go 
around him ; but he is the kindest little fellow to us. If 1 go out in 
the pasture where he is, he will follow me everywhere I go. We 
think the world of him. Hoping my letter is not too long, I remain, 
our constant reader, H. C. 

Easton, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : This is the first year I have ever taken you 
and the first year I have ever lived on a farm. I enjoy reading your 
stories and enjoy living on a farm. When I lived in the city I could 
not have as many pets as I can out here. Neither should I have had 
you. You are sent us through the kindness of a Mr. Ames, to whom I 
should like to extend my thanks through your columns. I also wish 
to thank you for making your pages so interesting to us boys and 
girls. Yours truly, 

W. S. B. 

St. Louis. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken the St. Nicholas for three 
years, and I like it very much. I take it for my little sister now, but 
always read it first myself, and enjoy it very much, and so does my 
little sister. I send it to her by mail after I am through with it. 

I have been making my own living for five years, and I do not get 
much time to read. I almost always read the St. Nicholas going 
and coming from work, as I have to take the street-car. 

Seven years ago,. I came from Sweden and could not speak a word 
of English, but now everybody takes me for an American. 

There is some splendid coasting and skating in Sweden, but I do 
not think the young people here would enjoy going to boarding- 
school there; at least, not the one I went to. They are very strict. 
For instance, once when I did not know my lesson, I had to stay up 
until 1 2 o'clock that night and study it by moonlight, without having 
had a bit of supper; and the next morning, instead of my breakfast, 
I had to stand in the center of the dining-room and watch the others 
eat. I intend to write a story when I get older, and relate my 
experience there. 

I should feel very proud if you would print this letter, as it is the 
first one I have written to you. 

Yours truly, Jo. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I live in Chicago, where the boys play 
marbles almost all the time in the spring. I am a fairly good player. 
I have six hundred and four. I hope the boys who read St. Nich- 
olas will try to get as many marbles. 

Yours truly, Cheshire S. 

City of Mexico. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl seven years old, and live 
alone with my father, who is a Baptist missionary. I have a mother, 
and little brother, and two sisters, living in the States. 

I have learned to spell the names of three places that I can see 
from bur roof. They are Chapultepec, and Popocatepetl, and 

There are lots of strange things here. We never slide downhill 
here, because there is no snow. I like St. Nicholas, especially the 
''Brownies." Edwina S. 

B a, N. J. 

Dear St. Nicholas: In looking over our old St. Nicholases we 
found, in the January number for 1SS2, a piece entitled, "Puppets 
and Puppet Shows," and as it struck our fancy, we agreed to try it. 
After several attempts, we succeeded in obtaining very good figures. 
With a little ingenuity and the plans of three busy brains, we ar- 
ranged an excellent screen and scenery ; then, with two of us to work 
and one to read, the puppets were set in motion. Our audience, 
though not large, was an' appreciative one, and the show was a grand 
success. The puppets were carefully placed in a box, and will be 
kept for another entertainment. 

Last summer we girls made a twine house in our orchard. A 
couple of cows strayed in one afternoon and ran through the house, 
and the chickens dug up a number of the morning-glories; but, in 
spite of these obstacles, a great many happy hours were spent in the 

We wait impatiently from one month to another for your pleasant 
magazine, and we remain, 

Your interested readers, " Puss-in-Boots," 
" Carabas," 

Camilla Van Kleeck : The article you wish is entitled " Lady 

Bertha," and was printed in St. Nicholas for December, 1880. 

May Bridges : The address which you desire is " The Art Inter- 
change, 37 West 22d street, New York City, N. Y." 

McGregor, Iowa. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I live about a mile from the " Great Father 
of Waters." I can not see the river from my home, but as I go to 
school in McGregor I can see it every day. 

McGregor is a small town of about 2000 inhabitants. It is nestled 
in among the hills, and some people think it a very pretty- place; 
indeed, some think it ought to be a summer resort. 

About a mile and a half from here is the highest bluff on the Missis- 
sippi, called Pike's Peak. I suppose it is named after 'the famous 
Pike's Peak in Colorado. From it there is a very lovely view. We 
can see the mouth of the Wisconsin River, the State 01 Wisconsin, 
and a great distance up and down the Mississippi. The river is full 
of islands near here. Believe me your loving reader, 

Bessie B. L. 

L. M. : You can obtain the information you wish, by referring to 
article " Iambi ich us " in Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman 
Biography and Mythology. 

Fredericksburg, Va. 

Dear St. Nicholas : This is the second year we have taken 
you ; at least, the second year since I can remember. We took you 
some years ago, and then stopped, and started again two years ago. 
When Papa told us each to vote for which paper we wanted last 
year, I think we all voted for you, and take you again this year. I 
look forward to your coming with delight. I must confess I am 
selfish about it, for I always try to get you first. 

This is a quiet old town, with beautiful scenery all around it. There 
are no mountains, but it lies between two high hills, in a little val- 
ley. Washington used to live here, and his house is only a square 
from ours. Mary Washington's monument is quite near, and we 
often go there. I have often climbed the heights where the battle of 
Fredericksburg was fought. It overlooks the quiet little town, 



peacefully slumbering, and it is hard to realize that once the shells 
and balls were flying across it from hill to hill. I have lived most of 
my life here, and 1 think it the nicest place in the world. I fear I 
have tired you with my long letter. So now, good-bye, dear old St. 
Nicholas. I look forward already to your next coming. I remain, 
your devoted reader, Carrie B. 

Fort Sill, I. T. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have a brother who is nearly seventeen 
years old. He had the first number of St. Nicholas, and we 
have taken it most of the time ever since. I have a year's sub- 
scription for my birthday. I am always glad when the time comes 
for you. Your reader, Sarah B. H. 

I am a lineal descendant, being a great-great-granddaughter, of 
"The Martyr of the Revolution," ashe is sometimes called, Colonel 
Isaac Hnyne, who was hanged by the British, and of whose execution 
at Charlestown a very interesting account is given by Ramsay, in his 
" History of South Carolina." My grandmother had a lock of Colonel 
Hayne's hair. It was a beautiful chestnut color, and had a slight 
wave through it. I am also a cousin of the poet, Paul Hayne. 

I like all the stories in St. Nicholas, but my favorite is " Little 
Lord Fauntleroy," who seems to be a second Paul Dumbey, with 
his quaint, old-fashioned sayings. I hope he will not die shut up 
in the gloomy castle, with his cross old grandfather, away from the 
companionship of " Dearest." 

With best wishes for the welfare of your delightful magazine, I 
remain, Your devoted reader, Marguerite H. 

North Leominster, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl eleven years old, and 
take your magazine. I am deeply interested in " Little Lord Faun- 
tleroy " and "George Washington." and hope they will be con- 
tinued for a long time. I have a number of pets ; among them are 
nine cats, which I like better than all the others. One is very large ; 
he weighs eleven and a half pounds. He stays in the house 'most 
all the time. His name is Toddlekins, and he goes to bed with my 
brother every night. We live on a farm, and keep five horses. In 
summer we go to ride almost every day. I have a pair of wooden 
horses, which I will describe to you, as it may interest some of your 
little readers. You take a keg and bore four holes in the side of it, 
and then take short round handles and put four of them into the 
holes. Then take two shingles and drive them into one end of the 
keg (for a neck) ; then take another shingle and cut to the shape 
of a horse's head, and put it between the two shingles that have 
been driven on to the top of the keg ; then put a feather duster in 
the other end, and you have a horse complete; when done, they are 
comical-looking enough. I like to read the letters in the Letter-box. 
I hope you will print my letter, as I have not written one before. 
Your interested reader, M. C. B. 

The Two Toads. 

Two toads went out to take a walk, 

And being old friends they had a long talk. 

Said one to the other, "A leaf I see. 
Will you be so kind as to bring it to me? " 
'' Of course ! " said the other. " Let 's build us a house, 
And have for a pony a little gray mouse." 

'Yes," said the other, "and a carriage too. 
Of a nice red tulip, which I '11 bring to you." 
They built them the carriage and harnessed the mouse. 
And drove to the mill-pond to build them a house. 

They built them a house very near to the mill, 
And if they 're not dead, they are living there still. 

Mabel Wilder {9 years old). 

Our Presidents. 
By G. Macloskee. 
A Itelp for memorizing United States History. 
Father Washington left us united and free, 

And John Adams repelled French aggression at sea; 

Boundless Louisiana was Jefferson's crown, 

And when Madison's war-ships won lasting renown, 

And the steam-boat was launched, then Monroe gave the world 

His new doctrine ; and Quincy his banner unfurled 

For protection. Then Jackson, with railways and spoils, 

Left Van Buren huge bankruptcies, panics, and broils. 

Losing Harrison, Tyler by telegraph spoke ; 

And the Mexican war brought accessions to Polk. 

Taylor lived not to wear the reward of ambition, 

And Fillmore's sad slave-law stirred up abolition ; 

So, compromise failing, Pierce witnessed the throes 

Of the trouble in Kansas. Secession arose 

Through the halting Buchanan. But Lincoln was sent 

To extinguish rebellion. Then some years were spent 

Reconstructing by Johnson. Grant lessened our debt ; 

Hayes resumed specie-payments ; and Garfield was set 

On Reform, which, as Arthur soon found, came to stay. 

Now for President Cleveland good citizens pray. 

Greenville, S. C. 

My Dear St. Nicholas : I have been a subscriber to your 
charming magazine for over three years, and have never yet read a 
letter dated Greenville, S. C, so thought I would write to you from 
that place. Greenville is a city in the upper part of South Carolina. 
It is divided into two parts by a small river which runs through it, 
and on which are several cotton-mills It is about thirty miles from 
Caesar's Head, a mountain said to bear a striking resemblance to a 
profile view of the human face. It used to be a stopping-point for 
travelers on their way to Greenville. During the very severe weather 
last winter, we thought that our town, instead of being called Green- 
ville, should be named after some snowy berg of Greenland. 

It seems to be the custom of your correspondents to give their 
ages and a minute description of their occupation, so I will follow. 
I am fourteen years old, and have never been to school a day in 
my life, my mother having always taught me at home until this 
year, when I have a tutor for Algebra and Latin. I continue 
the study of French with my mother, using Fasquelle's Grammar 
and reading a pretty story called " Le Petit"Robinson de Paris," be- 
sides having lessons in English composition, geography, history, 
declamation, music, and drawing. 

We print this little letter just as it came to us. 

Escanaba, Mich. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I like you very much, since we have 
been taking you we got some ginney pigs they are quite cute. 

Genie A. Longley (aged eight). 

A young friend sends us this drawing, which he calls 
A Fourth of July Tragedy. 


fj/ ^"wl "."//# ^%s5v 

South Front St., Harrisburg, Pa. 

Editor St. Nicholas : I thought that perhaps the following 
description of a sort of kaleidoscope would be of service to your 
magazine, for the entertainment of your young readers, on a rainy 

Have the room brilliantly lighted, then raise the lid of a square 




piano just as if for a player, but, instead of resting it on the surface 
of the piano itself, let it rest upon two or three large books placed on 
the top of the piano, so as to form at the front, where the hinges are, 
an angle of sixty degrees. Cover the open side of the triangle thus 
formed with a thick cover, which should extend also over the crack 
caused by the hinges of the lid. Thus you will have a hollow, tri- 
angular prism, the length of the piano, open at both ends. Polish 
well with a silk duster the inside of one end of this triangular prism ; 
hold pieces of crazy patchwork, or long pieces of silk ribbon, — the 
more variegated and brilliant the colors the better,— in a large hang- 
ing bunch, and shake gently about two inches in front of the pol- 
ished end toward the angle of the front, while the spectator looks 
through the opposite end of the kaleidoscope. A watch, chain, or 
looking-glass among the ribbons makes a pleasing variety. 
Yours very respectfully, 

Mary J. Knox. 
P. S. The lid on the top of an upright piano may also form a 
kaleidoscope in the same way, but smaller. 

Philadelphia, Penn. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am one of the many little folk who have 
listened to readings from your pages all my life. I am too small to 
write you a letter all myself, so Mamma will write it, for I wish to 
tell you about our salt crystals. You remember you told us how to 
make them, in your number for July, 1384. Mamma and I each 
started one, and every one thinks they are great curiosities. Papa 
photographed them so that you could see them also. The large one 
belongs to Mamma, and the small one is mine; they are about five 
months old. We have ceased adding salt and water, and have them 
under a glass shade, one resting on the other, and they make a 
very pretty ornament. Every time we stop to admire them we smack 
our lips and think how well-seasoned the St. Nicholas always is. 

We receive our St. Nicholas on the 25th of each month, and, 
dear Editor, you may always know that on that night there is a little 
hand resting under a piilow, holding tightly your enjoyable book 
waiting for the morn to dawn. 

Lovingly yours, Harold H. T. 


We thank the young friends whose names here follow for pleasant 
letters received from them: J. G. F., Bet tie M. K., Gussieand Nannie 
M., Edith Norris, Harold K. Palmer, J. E. P., Eleanor D. Olney, 
Daisy B. Holladay, Nan E. Parrott, Elizabeth P., May E. Waldo, 
Alma and Estelle, Irene B. D., H. Olina Herring, Carrie L. Walker, 
Hattie Homer, Florence Halsted, Fay and Fan, Clara E. Long-worth, 
May M. Boyd, Annie G. Barnard, Katie E. G., Alice Butterfield, 
Mabel P., E. C, James H. Saycock, E. Converse, Abe M. B., P. C. 
Brittain, L. H. E., May M. Boyd, Marie Clark, Morris Miner, Jo 
and Flo Overstreet, Roy C. Chambers, May Barton, Bessie Heath, 
Lawrence E. Horton, Charles R. Van Horn, Albertie G. Russell, 
S. M. K., Henry H. Townshend, Edith S. C, Blanche Sloat, Sadie 
Nichols, Jesse L. Pusey, Bessie Lenhart, J>jhn N. Force, Madge 
C. DeW., E. A. Burnham, " Sammy," A. G. K., Fannie B. S., 
Emily T. H., John R. P., Jr., Tommy Bangs, Florence, Julia McC, 
Brenda, Harry M. M., Gertie E. Kendall, H. E. H., A. K. E., Anna 
E. Roelker, M. H. N., " Katie," Etta A. Harper, May S., Tillie 
Lutz, W. P. Haslett, Charles L., Charlie P. Storrs, Maurice S. S., 
May, Freddie M., Florence M. Wilcnx, Ida R. G., Louis R. E., 
Bertha, Muriel C. Gere, Ralph M. Fletcher, Bertha B., Ella O., 
C H. Pease, Alice W. Brown, Clara L., Arthur F. Hudson, Katie. 
Thomas H. King, Jr., Mary L. Mayo, O. P., Carrie L. Moulthrop, 
Alice Dickey, M, Eva T,, Daisy W., Marie G. Hinkley, Agatha 

Montie Duncan, Agnes S. Barker, Samuel S. Watson, Madaleine 
C. Selby, Hattie A. Taber, Cecelia R. G., Belle Sudduth, Johnnie 
E. Shaw, Inez B. Fletcher, Eva, Ferrars J., C. P , Hermann 
Thomas, Annie and Margaret, Edmonia Powers, Alice M. B., D. 
and A., Anna A. H., Lizzie Kellogg, Louis J. Hall, Charles H. 
Webster, C. L. Wright, Jr., Merrick R. Baldwin, Eleanor Hobson, 
Lottie A. D., John Moore, Harold Smith, C. W. F., L. Hazeltine, 
A. C. Crosby, Mabel L., May J., Grace Plummer, Alice Dodge, 
Bessie K. S., Ella Bisell, Irma St. John, Irene Lasier, F. L. Waldo, 
Ruth Morse, Maude G. Barnum, Bertha M. Crane, Aggie Drain, 
Roy Gray Bevan, John W. Wainwright, Edith, Ella L. Bridges, 
Bessie Rhodes, Floy G., C. A. G., L. O. C, Mary S. Collar, Pearl 
Reynolds, Evelyn Auerbach, Mabel E. D., Grace Fleming. Eddie 
Persinger, Charlie B., Lillie Story, Maude B., Mary M. Steele, 
Doris Hay, Gussie Moley, Ethel W. F., Arthur, Mary Springer, 
Marion M. Tooker, Mary F. K., Lizzie E. Crowell, Josie W. Penny- 
packer, Bertie Barse, Nellie B., J. W. L., Maude Cullen, Daisy C. 
Baker, Esther S. Barnard, Blanche M. C, Aurelia M. Snider, 
Howard E. T., Bacon. Hildegarde G., Kittie L. Norris, Nellie L. 
Howes, Leverette Early, Virginia Beall, Henry W. Bellows, Bissell 
Currie, Violet Quinn, Mamie Sage, Belle C. Hill, Alvah and Arden 
Rockwood, Lillian Miln, Adele Yates, Lillie S. E., Ollie C, Maggie 






i 1 

A Course of Observations on Trees. 

The United States Government, through the Forestry Division of 
the Agricultural Department, solicits the assistance of volunteer ob- 
servers belonging to the Agassiz Association. The chief of the Division 
of Forestry, in consultation with the President of the A. A., is preparing 
a special " schedule of phenological observations " for the A. A. This 
is a very simple series of questions, in spite of its long name. One 
object of this series of observations is to determine the effect of 
climate upon the growth of plants. Among the facts to be noted are 
the dates of the appearance of first leaf, first flower, and first fruit. 
Nothing is required that can not be accurately and easily done by 
an intelligent boy or girl of twelve years of age. It is earnestly 
desired by the Department that as many as possible of our members 
undertake this work, in the interest of science, and for the practical 
results of the information sought. 

All who are willing to try, will kindly send their addresses, at 
once, to "The Chief of the Division of Forestry, Department of 
Agriculture, Washington, D. C." 

The complete schedule of observations desired will then be sent to 
them, and they can begin at once. 

The Iowa Convention. 

The following programme has been prepared for our next General 
Convention to be held at Davenport, Iowa, in August: 

Wednesday, August '.'5 : — 9 a. m. Reception of the National dele- 
gates, and visit to the Academy of Sciences. — 2 P. m. Opening of 
Convention, 1. Prayer. 2. Address of welcome by Senator James 
Wilson of Iowa. 3. Response by the President of the A. A. 
4. Reading of papers. — 7 p. m. Reception and banquet, with toasts 
and responses. 

Thursday, August 26: — 9 A. m. i. Question Box. 2. Visit to 
the Government Island. — 2 P.M. r. Working Session. 2. Address 
by the President of the A. A. — 7 p. m. Lecture, by Prof. T. H. 
McBride, of the Iowa State University. 

Friday, August 27 : — Steam-boat excursion down the Mississippi. 

Prof. Crosby's Class in Mineralogy. 

Boston, Mass. 
The class now includes 122 bona fide correspondents. The great 
majority have very greatly and agreeably surprised me by the excel- 
lence of their work. I have been especially delighted by the suc- 
cess of the chemical experiments. I was in doubt at first as to the 
propriety of introducing these; but I should never hesitate again. 
The success of the class is so much beyond my expectations that I 
am fully reconciled to the time and labor it has cost me. 

W. O. Crosby. 

Honorable Mention. 

Mr. Paul L. Smith, President of Chapter 653, of La Porte, Ind., 

goes fifty-nine miles, on the first Saturday of every month, to preside 

at the meetings of his Chapter. And yet some doubt whether 

Natural History can awaken the interest of the young ! 

The A. A. by the Sea. 
Miss Florence May Lyon and two associate teachers of the 
Detroit High School, members of Chapter 743, are making arrange- 
ments to take a bevy of a dozen or twenty young ladies for a sum- 
mer vacation of six weeks, to the charming town of Annisquam, Mass. 
They propose to teach them in as " unbookish and delightful a way 
as possible about sea-side plants and animals." These ladies have 
had abundant experience, and we wish them the greatest success. 

Birds' Eggs. 

The destruction of the singing birds of America is a growing and 
a very serious evil. Many ladies wear on their bonnets enough 
birds to flood a grove with melody — if only the birds were not 
dead and in pieces. 

We may make an appeal on this subject to the girls and women 

of the A. A., at a later date, but just now it is a question of rob- 
bing birds' nests. This association strictly maintains the scientific 
ground that when birds' eggs are actually needed by a young natur- 
alist, as a means of identification or of practical knowledge, it is 
justifiable to take them, when the law allows. But the collection of 
eggs as curiosities, and the wholesale robbery of nests for purposes 
of sale or exchange, is a wanton destruction wholly unworthy of any 
earnest student of nature. 

In view of the impossibility of discriminating between the two 
classes of collectors, we shall hereafter decline to publish in St. 
Nicholas, any requests for the sale, purchase, or exchange of the 
eggs of singing or game birds. 

We shall 'notice, as formerly, eggs of the penguin, eagle, croze, and 

Delayed Chapter Reports. 

60, Pigeon Cove, Mass. We have not lost a member from our 
hooks since you first enrolled us, and although at present we are all 
so occupied by our daily work that we can not hold regular meet- 
ings, we all look forward to the time when we shall be able to begin 
again. — Charles H. Andrews. 

150, Flushing, L. I. Our Chapter has not been very active during 
the past year, but 1 hope in the near future to build up a lively Chapter. 
Father and Mother will help me. — Frances M. L. Heaton, Sec. 

189, IV. Mcdford, Mass. The Chapter is still in existence, and 
is holding meetings every week. — Daisy G. Dame, Sec. 

257, Plantsville, Conn. We have been very successful ; meetings 
full of interest and well attended. Our last paper on '•Crystals'* 
was by E. N. Walkley, who illustrated the subject by plaster casts. 
We have a good male quartet in our Chapter ; also gentlemen who 
play on the violin, flute, piano, and 'cello, so we can have a good 
time if we want it, at any meeting. 

We have just papered, painted, and whitewashed our room, and 
intend to give an entertainment to procure funds to buy a new 
carpet (Bravo!) — Albert L. Ely, Pres. 

2S7, Ottawa, III. Our members are scattered, some in college, 
most of the others going soon : but we do not wish to be counted out 
of that society from which we have received so much pleasure and 
profit. — Edgar El dredge, Sec. 

331, New Orleans, La. This Chapter has passed through severe 
trials, being sustained at one time by only two earnest members, but 
it is now triumphantly successful. It is unique in that it has for its 
president a gentleman, Mr. P. M. Hoit, who lives in Santa Barbara, 
California, more than fifteen hundred miles away from the Chapter. 
He sends plans of work, rules of order, by-laws, etc., and really 
governs the Chapter, with which he first became acquainted through 
a letter asking about exchanges. The Chapter has over 600 speci- 
mens. — Percy S. Benedict, Sec. 

350, Los Angeles, Cal. The children never tire of going to the 
beach, and a trip to the mountains is another favorite excursion. Our 
cabinets grow, and I sometimes fear we shall get crowded out of the 
house by the fL trash" that is accumulating! — Mrs. M. F. Brad- 
shaw, Sec. 

366, Webster Groves, Mo. We have thirteen workers, all active. 

We have a collection of 510 specimens, mostly minerals and fossils 
of our own State; a library of 123 volumes; a microscope; and a 
chemical laboratory. We intend to hold an encampment this sum- 
mer. How do you think it would work to have a " Midsummer 
Night's Dream," on some summer evening? — we might have the 
telescope-man come out from the city, do some star-gazing, and have 
an open-air magic lantern entertainment? (It -would work " to a 
charm" .') — Edwin R. Allan, Sec. 

400, Fargo, Dakota. We gave an oyster supper a few weeks ago, 
and cleared $r5. Our rooms are in the Masonic Block, and the 
Masons kindly let us use their dishes for the occasion. We have 
one of the finest rooms for this class of work in the Northwest 
Our members are taking hold in earnest, and it will be a success. 
We have a fine teacher in Judge Mitchell. Mr. Mitchell will be 
glad to aid any of the western Chapters, if they wish. I think for 
my part there could be more chapters formed in Dakota, if the boys 

7 i8 



and girls would volunteer work earnestly. How many of the Dakota 
Chapters would like to organize the Dakota Assembly of the A. A. ? 
Those in favor will please correspond with me. — Frank Brown, Sec. 

The Fifth Century. 

403, Newark, N. J. We have begun to study the mounting of 
plants and leaves. We are going to admit some lady friends to our 
Chapter, which we think will be a great benefit to us. — Chas. 
Barrows, Sec. Wm. Earle, Pres. 

404, Baraboo, Wis. We are still working, and our collection is 
steadily growing. One of our boys caught a common painted turtle. 
I put it into a tub with another of the same kind. They soon became 
so tame that they took food from my hand quite readily. One day 
I fed them as usual, but before they finished their meal I emptied the 
water from the tub, when one of them that had a worm in its mouth 
began to choke and could not swallow. I gave the other one, too, 
but he only took the end of it in his mouth. But as soon as I put 
water enough in for them to cover their heads, they swallowed as 
easily as ever. I tried this several times with the same result. We 
gave an entertainment and cleared $25. — Marie McRennan, Sec. 

409, Sag Harboi-y N. 1 *. This year has been marked by greater 
progress than any other since our organization. In April, 1885, a 
valuable addition was made to our cabinet by the finding of a shrew 
- — genus sore x. This little animal, the least of the mammals, meas- 
ured not quite two inches in length, excluding the tail. During 
May and June we organized for summer work, on a new plan, — the 
president appointing committees to collect in special departments. 
In July and August we spent numerous " field-days" in the woods 
and on the shore. We found a rare specimen of trap-rock. The 
skeleton of a bottle-fish excited a great deal of curiosity. One of our 
members who had caught a live one identified it. 

In November, we commenced a series of discussions: " Which is 
of more value to mankind — cotton or wool ? " (Decided in favor of 
wool.) " What is the most useful mammal ? " (Four members voted 
for cow and four for sheep.) " What insect is most valuable in pro- 
moting human happiness?" (Decided for honey-bee.) " What is 
the most valuable fish?" (Cod.) Many other questions were 
debated. We have received many curious specimens : sea-horse, 
porcupine-fish, key-hole shells, etc. We intend to collect sea-weed 
and mosses this summer. — Cornelius R. Sleight, Sec. 

423, Perth Amboy, N. J. Our thirty members have manifested 
great interest in collecting and examining specimens from the differ- 
ent divisions of the animal kingdom. Much attention has been 
given to articulates, including insects of the sea. At present we are 
engaged in a very interesting course of observation in mineralogy. 
We have the highest appreciation of the assistance we have derived 
from the A. A., in learning to observe and love nature. — Bertha M. 
Mitchell, Cor. Sec. 

424, Decorah, Iowa. Several of our lady members are teachers, 
and highly value our meetings. We shall try to have public lectures 
in geology. We are connecting with these subjects that of humane 
work, proposing to organize as the Agassiz Band of Mercy. So we 
have two harmonious lines of good work begun, and hope to make 
both of them permanent. — M. R. Steele, Sec. 

428, St. Paid, Minn. Since our organization we have had 
seventy-- eight meetings, all at our house. As one of our number is 
studying for the occupation of mining engineer, and has a forge, 
furnace, lathe, etc., we have decided to study iron, steel, and the 
methods of mining and manufacturing them. We have a club- 
room, where we keep our cabinets, and a small library. — Philip C. 
Allen, Sec. 

436, Toronto, Canada. Our president and several of our mem- 
bers have moved from town, so we have done comparatively nothing 
since I wrote you. But Charles Ashdown and I are endeavoring to 
get some new members, and 1 believe we shall have a stronger and 
better Chapter than ever. — David J. Howell, Sec. 

439, Wilmington, Del. We have collected more cocoons and 
chrysalids this winter than ever before. Many of them are very 
rare, among them, A chemon, P. satellitia, SmeHntJiis gemvzatus, E. 
imperalis, and Callosama angulitera. — Percy C. Pyle. 

440, Kecne, N. H. We have several hundred specimens, mostly 
lepidoptcra and coleoptcra. Have found a great many fine beetles 
lately under the bark of dead trees and stumps where they pass the 
winter. We always note the place of capture of all specimens, and 
all other items of interest. — Frank H. Foster, Sec. 

448, Washington, D. C. We bring to our third anniversary, a 
gratifying sense of well-being and desert, with promise of continued 
vigor. Our portfolios hold 343 reports, and every member is there 
represented. Our fifty books and pamphlets are read with applica- 
tion. We are ambitious for a children's Chapter, and long to make 
discoveries. Perhaps some of us may some day, and with this thrill- 
ing thought we are planning careful summer walks, with thoughtful 
"observation books." — Sabelle Macfarland. 

450, Fitchburg, Mass. As we have consolidated all our Fitch- 
burg Chapters into one, now known as No. 48, Fitchburg, A, there 
is no special report from 450, but I think we now have an earnest 
society on a solid foundation. — Geo. F. Whittemore. 

453> Oswego, N. V. Active. Will soon hold meetings weekly 
instead of fortnightly. Special study for the year has been archaeology 
and geology. Have been much interested in the archeofitcryx. On 
archaeology, will send you a more lengthy report. — Will A. Burr, Sec. 

\TJte promised report came i?i due time, and it is a fnasterpiece 
of patient work, — carefully illustrated with drawings of I tidian 
arrow-lieads, axes, pottery, needles, fish-hooks, pipes, and anvils. 
It covers twelve Pages closely written. We value it, and Jtave 
placed it carefully onfile.\ 

460, Washington, D. C This Chapter was organized in the 
spring of 1882 from a small association we then had; it had already 
existed for two years or more when we heard of the A. A. We 
concluded this would give us a wider scope for scientific investiga- 
tions, and so made formal application for admission into the Associ- 
ation, which had already advanced with marvelous rapidity. 

Vernon M. Dorsey, an unusually promising mineralogist and chem- 
ist, was elected president. When a new member was elected it cost 
him nothing, sohe was elected with the full consent of all the members, 
not one objecting. Passive members were allowed in this Chapter, 
they paying ten cents a month, which money went into the treasury. 

We adopted most of the rules and regulations in the Hand-book, 
and, after having arranged the executive portion of the Chapter, we 
commenced to have a regular course of essays or lectures, on Tuesdays 
and Thursdays, given by the active members, which lectures the 
passive members could attend if so inclined. After the lectures we 
generally had debates, and as each member had a different branch 
of Natural History to which he devoted his attention, the lectures 
and debates were not monotonous. 

We ran on pretty smoothly for about a vear and a half, until the 
money in the treasury commenced to accumulate, when, with the ex- 
ception of one or two members, the Chapter spontaneously combusted. 

We have never been able to rebuild it. We can hold no meetings. 
It exists, really, only in name, because the prospects for the future 
look rather dull. 

If you will allow our Chapter to remain on the list, I should much 
prefer you would do so. 

I have carried on investigations in various branches of zoology, 
hut, as this is merely a report of the Chapter, I will not enter into 
details concerning them. 

I hope that the other Chapters will meet with better success 
than ours, though it may yet revive. 

Yours respectfully, F. A. Reynolds, Cor. Sec. 

[ We are sorry t/uzt this excellent Chapter experienced "sfio?ttane- 
ous combustion," but we Jwpe and believe that it will ere long also 
experience voluntary resurrection. .] 

465, Waterz'itle, Maine. Our president has moved away. The 
rest of us have been exceedingly busy. We have been obliged to 
vacate our room, and, as we could not get another, have had to 
store our specimens. But we are not dead yet ! Far from it ! It is 
only a case of suspended animation. We fully expect to take up 
work again this summer. — Charles W. Spencer, Sec. 

\_Not even " suspendea 'animation ; " the Chapter is only catch- 
ing its breath for more vigorous exertion.] 

470, Nicollet, Wis. Still prospering. We have a small room 
nicely fitted up. in our High School building, of which we are quite 
proud. We have a working membership of twenty-four, and hold 
regular meetings. 

[A friend of the Chapter adds to this report of Miss Sara 
Ritchie, the secretary, the following :] 

"'I was exceedingly interested in listening to the different members 
reporting formally the occurrence of our spring birds, with which was 
associated the arrival of certain insects. Two years ago, such re- 
ports were impossible, as the observing faculties of very few of the 
members had been sufficiently trained. If nothing more has been 
acquired, this one habit of close observation, developed by our A. A. 
work, is worth all it may have cost those who have encouraged and 
carried out the plan of the Association." 

Change of Address. 

The address of Chapter 850 is now simply Chapter S50 A. A., 
Box 1587, Bangor, Maine. 


Correspondence with other family Chapters whose members are 
beginners in botany or entomology. — Mrs. R. Van Dien, Jr., Box 
13, Hohokus, Bergen Co., N. J. 

Correspondence desired. Entomology and botany. — Paul L. 
Smith, 334S Indiana Aw, Chicago. 111. 

Postmarks and fossils (Lingulipis piuuafcr?uis) for books on 
zoology. Write first. — Chas. F. Baker, St. Croix Falls, Wis. 

Cecropia moths for other Itpidoptera. — W. B. Greenleaf. Box 311, 
Normal Park. 111. 

Correspondence with other Chapters earnestly desired. — Stephen 
R. Wood, Sec. 776, Oakland, Cal. 

Florida (east coast) shells, star-fishes, coquina, small live alliga- 
tors, etc., etc., for anything rare or curious. — J. Earle Bacon, Or- 
mond, Volusia Co., Fla. 

Coquina, trap-rock, asphaltum, Skates' egg-case, key-hole shell, 
and cocoons. — C. R. Sleight, Sec. Ch. 409, Sag Harbor, L. I., N. Y. 

All kinds of Chinese curiosities for fine Indian relics. — Kurt 
Kleinschmidt, Box 752, Helena, Montana. 



New and Reorganized Chapters. 

No. Name. No. 0/ Me 

957 Galveston, Texas (B) 9. 

g58 Greenup, Ky. (A) 20 . 

959 Hartwick Sem., N. Y. (A). 5. 

960 Geneva, N. Y. (C) 6. 

961 Hartford, Conn. (G) 12. 

962 Kansas City, Mo. <B) 5, 

963 Geddes, N. Y. (A) 4. 

964 Manchester, Iowa (A) 20. 

965 Three Rivers, Mich. (A) ..7. 

966 Randolph, III. (A) 24. 

863 Hinsdale, 111. (B) 9. 

60 Rockport, Mass, (A) 12. 

ruber's. Address. 

.Emma E. Walden, Cor. 34th 

and N. J^ streets. 
.Mrs. Geo. Gibbs, Box 104. 
.Alfred A. Hiller. 
.F. H. Bachman, Box 559. 
. Austin H. Pease, 

4 Canton street. 
.R. E. Breeze, 611 E. 17th St. 
. G. E. Avery, Box 76. 
. Fred Blair. 
.G._W. Daniels. 
.Miss Grace Stewart. 
.N. H. Webster. 
.Chas. H. Andrews. 



Name. No. 0/ Members. A ddress. 

Indianapolis, Ind. (A) 8. .G. L. Payne, 

care of T. B. Linn. 
Amherst, Mass 4.. Miss Edith S. Field. 


Linden, N. J E. H. Schram. 

[Members removed.} 

Northfield, Vt T. M. Hut. 

Chapel Hill, N.J Miss Clara J. Martin. 

Granville, O Miss Ida M. Sanders. 

St. Louis (A) Maud M. Love. 

[Members removed. ] 
Duncannon, Pa Miss Annie I. Jackson. 

Address all communications for this Department to 

Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, Lenox, Mass 



Arena. 3. Neat. 4. Ant. 5. 
3. Ergot. 4. Eerie. 

Half-Square, i. Canada. 
Da(w). 6. A. 

Rhomboid, Across: r. Sloop. 2. Organ. 
5. Sandy. Cross-word Enigma. Blossom. 

St. Andrew's Cross of Diamonds. I. 1. P. 2. Fur. 3. Fares. 

4. Puritan. 5. Retip. 6. Sap. 7. N. II. 1. N. 2. Fen. 3. 
Fagin. 4. Negroes. 5. Niobe. 6. Nee. 7. S. III. 1. N. 2. 
Pen. 3. Puman. 4. Nemesis. 5. Nasal. 6. Nil. 7. S. IV. 1. 
N. 2. Ben. 3. Baton. 4. Nettles. 5. Nolle. 6. Nee. 7. S. 
V. 1. S. 2. Let. 3. Livid. 4. Several. 5. Tired. 6. Dad. 
7. L. 

"Diamond" Puzzle. Across: 1. S. 2. Ape. 3. Bream. 4. 
Car. 5. R. Downward: 1. B. 2. Arc. 3. Spear. 4. Ear. 5. 

Buried Cities, i. Berne. 2. Basle. 3. Bergen. 4. Quito. 

5. Herat. 6. Mandalay. 7. Venice. 8. Bremen. 

A Berry Puzzle, i. Dogberry. 2. Checkerberry. 3. Straw- 
berry. 4. Shadberry. 5. Barberry. 6. Raspberry. 7. Partridge- 
berry. 8. Snowberry. 9. Thimbleberry. 10. Gooseberry. 11. 
Elderberry. 12. Baybeny. 

Diamond, i. S. 2. Lea. 3. Larva. 4. Serpent. 5. Avert. 

6. Ant. 7. T. 

Double Acrostics. 

als, Thomas ; finals, Arnold. Cross- 

2. HorroR. 3. OberoN. 


words: 1. ThaliA. 
AstraL. 6. SinbaD. 

Pi. In June 't is good to lie beneath a tree 

While the blithe season comforts every sense, 
Steeps all the brain in rest, and heals the heart, 
Brimming it o'er with sweetness unawares. 
Fragrant and silent as that rosy snow 
Wherewith the pitying apple-tree fills up 
And tenderly lines some last year robin's nest. 

James Russell Lowell. 
Beheadings. Trinity. 1. T-ape. 2. R-asp. 3. I-con. 4. 
N-ail. 5. I-man. 6. T-ide. 7. V-end. 

Double Diagonals. From 1 to 2, chaffinch; from 3 to 4, gold' 
finch. Crosswords: 1. Corroding. 2. Childhood. 3. Gradually. 
4. Confident. 5. Charterer. 6. Exhibited. 7. Penitence. 8. 

Acoustics. 9. Hair-cloth. Charade. Jack-stones. 

Metamorphoses, i. Ape; ale, all, ail, aim, rim, ram, ran, man. 
2. Oars; bars, bard, card, cord, cold, colt, coat, boat. 3. Lead; 
bead, beat, belt, bolt, bold, gold. 4. Warm ; harm, hard, card, 
cord, cold. 5. One ; owe, awe, aye, dye, doe, toe, too, two. 6. 
Age; aye, dye, die, hie, his, has, gas. 

To our Puzzlers: In sending answers to puzzles, sign only your initials or use a short assumed name ; but if you send a complete 
list of answers you may sign your full name. Answers should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 
33 East Seventeenth street, New York City. 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, too late for acknowledgment in the June number, from Esther Reid, 
East Melbourne, Australia, 1 — R. F. Graham, London, England, 1. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 20, from " B. L. Z. Bub, No. 1," — Paul Reese — 
Emma St. C. Whitney — "The McG's" — May and Julia — Ed, Beth, and Charlie — Maggie T. Turrill — Arthur and Bertie Knox — N. B. 
Oakford — M. G. Jackson — "Cricket and Cripsy " — Elisabeth, Richard, and Ruth — Pough — etc. — Dorothea E. Kennade — Josie and 
Lillie — Blanche aud Fred — "B. L. Z. Bub, No. 2" — " The Spencers" — C. and S. Andrews — The Stewart Browns — " May and 79 " — Effie 
K. Talboys — Delia, Lou, Ida, and Lillie — "San Anselmo Valley" — Madge and the Dominie — Edith McDonald — Maud E. Palmer — 
Mary Ludlow — Mamma and Jokie — " Clifford and Coco" — Francesco and Co. — Mamma and the Girls — Shumway Hen and Chickens — 
"Theo. Ther " — Alice — M. E. d'A. — Blithedale — " Betsy Trotwood " — Belle and Bertha Murdock — Judith — Randolph and Robert — 
"Miss M. and the Gals" — W. R. M. — Nellie and Reggie — Fannie and Louise Lockett — Bertha H. — "R. U. Pert" — Francis W. 
Islip — X. and Y. — Alice and Lizzie Pendleton — Frying-pan — Hallie Couch — S. and B. Rhodes and de Grassy — Savoir et Sagesse — 
X. Y. Z. and Ulysses — B. Z. G. — Carrie Seaver and Alice Young — Dash. 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 20, from Foster and Remer, 2 — Clark Holbrook, 3 — 
"Triangle," 4 — J. M. Moore, 1 — Eleanor B. Ripley, 6 — E. M. Benedict, 1 — "Block and Chip," 9 — H. E. Hanbotd, 2 — A. G. 
Tomay, 2 — E. O. Brownell, 2 — Geo. S. Seymour and Co., 9 — N. Beall, 2 — Philip and Mamma, 4 — N. L. Peacock. 1 — "Yum 
Yum," 2 — E. Parks, 1— F. A. and H. C. Hart, 2 — Alice and R. G., 1 — Maud S., 1 — "Egg," 1 — B.. H., M., M., and A. Read, 1 — 
Bub and Bubess, 1 — "Infant," 1 — Pepper and Maria, 9 — A. Ransom and W. Chase. 1 — A. H. Sibley, 1 — Ned L. Mitchell, 4 — 
Eddie B., 1 — " Lone Star," 7— A. F. S., 1— G. E. C. and E. B. F., 5 — M. Kershcy and S. Sweet, 9— G. E. Campbell, 3 — G. F. 
Cameron, 2 — B. Sudduth, 2 — Kendriek Bros., 9 — R. B. C, 2 — E. and K. Mitchell, 3 — L. D. Shropshire, 1 — "J. McDuffe." 1 — 
" Doane-utsand Rice," 1 — " Phlimpy," 2 — D. Thomas and Auntie, 2 — " Snags," 2 — F. Althaus, 4 — Daisy Condell, 3 — Me and Be, 2 — 
N. E. Miner, 4 — Geo. Hawley, 5 — A. B. Smith, 2 — R. K. Allison, 1 — M. Flurscheim, 1 — Mrs. Emma Sloat, 3 — Millie Atkinson, 1 — 
H. Frost, 1 — B. C. Ketchum. 1 — Billy and Me, 7 — S. R. Manning, 1 — Mamma and Belp, 1 — Rose H. Wedin, 1 — Mary and 
Jennie Butler, 4 — No name, Fredericksburgh, 4 — "Dixie," 2 — M. S. Bird, 1 — R. L. Foering, 1 — F. Jarman, 3 — E. F. and F. E. 
Bliss, 1 — L. and C. Kendrickson, 2 — Tessie Gutman, 7 — A. D. C, 2 — Joe and Billy, 1 — L. Wainman, 2 — " Yum Yum," 1 — N. L. 
Howes, 2 — " B. Rabbit and T. Baby," 4 — H. S. Chalmers, 1 — "Pen and Ink-bottle." 1 — Maginnis, 1 — J. R. F. S-, 1 — Christine and 
Cousin, 5 — I. M. Lebermann, 6 — Albert and Gussie, 1 — C. J. Tully, 2 — Laura W. and Alice M., 2 — Grace E. Keech, f — Agnes 
Converse, 4—" Head-lights," 1 — C. Gallup. 1 — C. W. Chadwick, 2 — Prof. P. H. Janney, 1 — E. E. Hudson, 1 — " Dixie and Pixie," 1 — 
" Mr. Pickwick," and " Sam Weller." 8 — M. F. Davenport, 1 — "89 and Chestnuts," 1 — J. A Keeler, 6 — Edith, Grace, and Jessie, 2 — 
Bessie Jackson, 4— H. N. and Nickie Bros., 2 — J. M. B., G. S., and A. Louise W., 8 — K. L. Reeder, 1 — Mamie R., 9 —Walter 
LaBar,8— H.C. Barnes, 1 — Jennie Judge, 3 — E.H. Seward, 3— " The Lloyds," 8 — A. Wister, 2 — Fred T. Pierce, 6— Lucia C. 
Bradley, 8 — Puzzle Club, 9 — Alina and Estelle. 1 — Pearl Colby and Nell Betts, 7 — Eleanor and Maude Peart, 7 — S. B. S. Bissell, 4 — 
Estelleand Edith, 1 — F. J. and Flip, 2— "Mohawk Valley," 8— H. Allen, Jr., r — R. Lloyd, 5 — Mamma and Fanny, 9 — Mrs. E. and 
Grace E., 5 — L. Delano and M. Wilson, 8 — I. and E. Swanwick, 5 — Anonymous, 4 — Herbert Wolfe, 9 — Lulu May, 7 — No name, 7 — 
" Koko and Pitti-sing," 1 — Sallie Viles, 9 — Tessie and Henri, 3 — Murray and Percy, 9 — S. L. Meeks. 6 — Marjorie Daw, 1 — C. 
and H. Condit, S — " Peggotty," 7 — Katie, 1 — Edith Young, 3 — Two Cousins, 9 — Eva Hamilton, 9 — Chip and Block, 2. 





I AM composed of ninety-three letters, and am a famous toast 
given at Norfolk by a distinguished naval officer who was killed in a 
duel in 1820. 

My 89-41-8-49 is a preposition. My 22-73-33 ' s belonging to us. 
My 53 -I 5-4 < 3-65-2g-S5 is a specter. My 57-70-1-10 is a float. My 
25-59-3 is a term used in addressing a gentleman. My 13-76-48-19 
is stockings. My 68-33-26 is to fasten. My 75-5-81 is bashful. 
My 62-91-6-80 is a division of time. My 69-23-44-55 is restless. 
My 27-35-37-18-50-90 is the name of a season. My 67-63-92-88- 
47 is the Christian name of a famous American poet. My 31-28-20- 
58 is a conflagration. My 30-72-82-24-32-64 is intense dread. My 
4-51-17-12-42-60 is a military engine. My 9-34-93-16-45-14-78-86 
is a body of men commanded by a colonel. My 40-2-74-38-21-87- 
54-71-56 are renegades. My 36-39-61-79-52-11-7-66 84-77-43 ' s a 
machine-gun that can fire two hundred shots a minute. 


From 1 to 2, a parent ; from 2 to 6, tranquillity ; from 5 to 6, a 
useful instrument: from 1 to 5, a feminine name; from 3 to 4, con- 
suming; from 4 to 8, voracious; from 7 to 8, actively; from 3 to 7, 
the flag which distinguishes a company of soldiers ; from 1 to 3, a 
very small fragment ; from 2 to 4, resounded ; from 6 to S, not diffi- 
cult; from 5 to 7, part of the day. david h. d. 


Mvjirst is that happy position 

The holders of stock love to see; 
"Tis the point above which the aspiring 

Are evermore hoping to be. 

My second made haste for the doctor ; 

His mother was ailing, he heard; 
And that mother ever had taught him 

To revere and be kind to my third. 

Then he went to my whole and requested 

Its master his mother would see, 
For he knew that my Jirst and my second 

To his mother most welcome would be. 

ing always in the same order. Sometimes the metamorphoses may- 
be made in as many moves as there are letters in each given word, 
but in other instances more moves are required. 

Example: Change lamp to fire in four moves. Answer, lamp, 


i. Change cow to rat in three moves. 2. Change hard to soft 
in six moves. 3. Change left to east in four moves. 4. Change hit 
to low in four moves. 5. Change long to west in five moves. 

" u. 1. versity." 


I. Across: i. Poison. 2. An ancient philosopher memorable 
for his friendship with Pythias. 3. Large bundles. 4. A substance 
obtained from certain trees. 5. A strip of leather. 

Downward: i. In prove. 2. A nickname. 3. To seize by a 
sudden grasp. 4. A famous mosque. 5. Certain burrowing ani- 
mals. 6. A cosy place. 7. A title of respect. 8. A word of denial. 
9. In prove. 

II. Across: i. A very wealthy man. 2. A bricklayer. 3. In- 
habitants of a certain European country. 4. To send back. 5. A 

Downward: i. In Rhine. 2. A verb. 3. Vicious. 4. A low 
ridge of stone or gravel. 5. Freed from osseous substance. 6. The 
name of a captain in one of Jules Verne's stories. 7. Iniquity. 8. A 
preposition. 9. In Rhine. NORA L. winslow. 


Nilcang yam eb dais ot eb os kilt 
veem eb fylul ratlen. 


eth hatemcatsim atth ti nac 

Each of the words described contains the same number of letters, 
and the zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell a 
day famous in history. 

1. A creeping vine 2. A common insect. 3. A cover. 4. Nourished. 
5. Placed. 6. A boy's nickname. 7. A kitchen utensil. 8. To 
augment. 9. An extremity. 10. A conjunction. 11. A fabulous 
bird. 12. Conducted. 13. To delve. 14. A month. 15. A song. 




The letters of each of the following anagrams may be transposed 
so as to spell the name of a well-known novel. 

1. Nod, quiet ox. 2. Wilt sit over? 3. Visiting near H. 4. 
Earning my gun. 5. Lord Poicy is south. 6. But no nice clams. 
7. I hem when I want to. 8. Is it of papa's homely Ted ? 9. If 
we have lifted a cork. 10. We quit Dr., and run. E. L. G. M, 


The problem is to change one given word to another given word, 
by altering one letter at a time, each alteration making a new word, 
the number of letters being always the same, and the letters remain- 

Across : 1. Unmarried women. 2. With quick beating or palpi- 
tation. 3. A musical term meaning "slowly." 4. A gentle blow. 
5. In water. 6. An exclamation. 7. A marked feature. 8. A French 
coin. 9. More comely. 

The central letters spell articles much worn during the summer. 
The letters from 1 to 2 name the delight of invalids during the sum- 
mer months ; from 3 to 4) an instrument used for timing races. 



Vol. XIII. 

AUGUST, 1886. 

No. 10. 

[Copyright, 1S86. by The CENTURY CO.] 

By Alfred Terry Bacon. 

A few days ago as I was coming out of the 
dark mouth of a canon, glad to be once again in the 
low afternoon sunshine and the free air, there 
rang out from the blooming plum-thicket beside 
me a clear, low whistle, repeated often. It was 
only a curlew hidden down by the brook, under the 
sweet-scented canopy of flowers ; but the whistle 
came again so sweetly and boyishly that my 
thoughts flew far away ; the tired horse fell into a 
walk ; the reins dropped from my hand over the 
high Mexican saddle-horn ; the mountains and the 
flower-covered valley seemed blotted out of sight, 
and instead there came up a vision of a little 
brown-eyed boy, who lives two thousand miles 
away — he seemed to be standing before me and 
looking up, whistling just as the curlew whistles. 

But there was no one near. I was alone among 
the mountains, twenty miles away from any man, 
and twice as far from any whistling lad. It was only 
a little vision that the curlew's note called up for 
me, but I was grateful to the hidden bird ; for that 
clear remembrance was like sight, and it was long 
since I had seen a human face or heard a voice. 
The curlew calling by the brook never knew that it 
was doing a kindness for a boy far away on the 
other side of the continent ; but in jogging my 
memory it reminded me of a letter, lying tucked 
away, which had cost its writer a great deal of hard 
work — a letter from the brown-eyed lad who thinks 
the life of a backwoodsman almost as interesting 
as the life of Robinson Crusoe and the other won- 
derful men in the story-books. Perhaps there are 

some other boys who would like to hear how a man 
lives all alone in the Rocky Mountains. 

Near the central part of the Territory of Wyo- 
ming there is a group of mountains which belong 
to the Rocky Mountain system, though they are far 
separated from the highest range. All the moun- 
tains are higher than any of our Eastern ranges ; 
but standing in the midst of plains that are many 
thousand feet above the sea, their general height 
does not seem great. They are very beautiful in 
their covering of heavy pine forests with count- 
less tall crags and towers and sharp obelisks of 
natural rock rising from their summits ; and in 
the center of the group there stands one lofty peak 
rising far above all its fellows. While all the moun- 
tains around were gay with spring flowers, its high 
head was still wrapped in snow ; and now as mid- 
summer approaches, it is still crowned with a white 
wreath which will only melt away in the late sum- 
mer, to return in the early autumn. 

The Rocky Mountains are unlike the other great 
ranges of the world, in having broad, smooth, 
grassy valleys scattered everywhere among them. 
Some of these valleys are of very great size, even 
among the highest mountains, and they are so 
different from other mountain valleys that they 
have received a different name ; they are generally 
called parks. This lower group of mountains also, 
like the great main range, has these lovely natural 
parks of smaller size. The largest and most beau- 
tiful of them all, a mile in width and many miles 
in length, lies along the eastern side of the great 




peak; and just where the evening shadow of the 
mountain falls across the park, shutting off an 
hour or two of late sunshine, there stands a little 
lonely log cabin, which is my hermitage. There 
I am spending a month or two, far away from 
men, like Robinson Crusoe. I have, to be sure, 
the company of a horse and a dog, but there is no 
man — not even a Man Friday; and therefore, as 
it is not possible for me to talk to any one, I must 
do a little talking with my pen, and tell what a 
queer sort of a life I lead. For even in this wil- 
derness I have one great comfort which was denied 
to poor old Robinson — sometimes, by taking long 
rides, I can get letters; though, as the post-office 
is fifty miles away, mail days arc very scarce. 
Still, slowly passed along from ranch to ranch, 
letters come and go; and so, in time, what I 
write will reach the railroad and then the outer 
world . 

Life in this part of the globe is not always so 
lonely. On nearly all the rivers and creeks of 
Wyoming there are ranches scattered at distances 
of ten or twenty miles apart. On the 
eastern edge of these mountains, there 
is a ranch only eight miles away from 
my hermitage, and there is another in 
the foot-hills on the western side, not 
twenty miles away. But now all the 
ranches are deserted, for the 
only business in all this region 
is the raising of cattle, and 
through the early summer all 
hands are hard at work on 
the "round-ups," which run 
over the whole breadth of the 
territory, searching for cattle 
scattered by the storms of 
the last winter. Through 

the cold and the darkness and 
the deep snows of winter 
Crusoe-life would, indeed, be 
rather too hard to bear. Then, 
there were three of us together 
in the little cabin, and there 
were sometimes friendly visits 
between the men on the dis- 
tant ranches. But now, alone 
in the wilderness, twenty miles 
from any human being, I feel 
the loneliness less than did we 
three together in the still, dead 
winter ; for the whole world 
is alive and beautiful. 

No one knows, moreover, 
how much pleasure there is 
in the friendship of an affec- 
tionate dog and an intelligent 
horse, until he is shut off from all other company, 
and is obliged to make them his intimate friends. 
Gip and Monkey, my dog and my horse, spend 
so many hours of every day exploring the moun- 
tains with me 
grown to be 

A hermit, you know, 
usually has not much 
work to do. Those 
old fellows 
who used to 
hide them- 
selves in caves , 
and deserts, 
in old times, 
spent most of 
their days in 
solemn med- 
itation ; but 
am not just 
that kind of 

that we have 
very faithful 



a hermit. To sit still and think all the time would 
be the hardest work in the world for me. The 
only necessary work that falls to my lot at present 
is keeping the camp, preparing food and looking 
after a small band of horses that are running at 
large in the park. My first task is to ride a few 
miles up the park and see that the horses are on 
their proper range ; and after that, all the day is 
free for reading or writing or hunting or wandering 
about through the mountains, finding fresh vari- 
eties of flowers or exploring unknown canons or 
climbing the tall crags to look across the moun- 
tains to the vast plains that stretch away as far as 
the eye can reach, like a blue sea. In these daily 

way. But then it is true, to be sure, that some 
of them are not always very kindly treated by us 
when we meet them, so perhaps we are to blame. 
There are two families of neighbors, who live in 
caves on the mountain, for whom I have a great 
respect. 1 would not give them offense on any 
account, for they are very powerful, and usually 
have thing's all their own way in the neighbor- 
hood. They are the brown bears and the gray- 
bears. Often I see their great fresh foot-prints 
in the mud along the creeks when I go out in the 
early morning. The tracks look as if a man with 
very large, broad feet had been running bare- 
footed through the mire. I never follow their 



rides through the wild mountains there is so much 
that is new and strange to Eastern eyes, so much 
that is beautiful and grand, so many kinds of curi- 
ous wild animals, such quantities of gay flowers 
never seen in the States, that there is enough 
pleasure in them to make up for all the loneliness 
of these few weeks. 

We seem to be alone most of the time — Mon- 
key, Gip, and I — and that is why we are such 
friends ; but we are not alone so much as we seem 
to be. There are plenty of neighbors upon the 
mountain-sides, and some that wander through 
the park ; but they are so very unsociable that 
when they see us coming they walk the other 

trail very far to see where they have gone, for 
I prefer to have a friend or two with me when I go 
to make the acquaintance of these mighty gentle- 
men or the members of their families. 

At the nearest ranch on the western side of the 
mountains, there lives a German who was the first 
pioneer to bring cattle in among these valleys. 
The encounters that he has had with all the various 
animals that live in the forest are very interesting. 
Not long ago. this old fellow built a new cabin for 
himself at the foot of a mountain. Before his 
house was finished, he went out one day and 
killed a fine fat deer. Bringing the carcass 
home at night, he hung it up against the back of 




his house, and then hanging a blanket over the 
doorway which was still without a door, he went to 
bed. He slept soundly, but there dimly seemed to 
him to be some disturbance about the house during 
the night ; and when he went out in the morning, 
every bit of his fine deer was gone, and the bear 
tracks up and down the mountain-side showed 
what had become of it. But game was plentiful, and 
it was not long before his deer was replaced by a 
big-horned sheep, which is the most tender and 
juicy meat that ever was eaten. This time he was 
more careful, and lay awake half the night, fearing 
that he should lose his stock of fresh meat. When 
it was very late and he was about to give up 
watching, he at last heard a sound at the back of 
the house. Something was at work on his wild 
mutton. There was a noise of scratching and 
tearing. It seemed as if several bears were mak- 
ing short work with his meat. He seized his load- 
ed rifle and jumped out of bed with very scanty 
clothing on. Going to the doorway and drawing 
aside the blanket, he saw that the night was 
cloudy and as dark as Egypt. He stopped and 
thought for a moment that it would be impossible 
to kill a bear in such darkness, even if he should 
be able to hit it, for these beasts are so tough 
that they will carry a dozen bullets about in 
their bodies without much inconvenience, if they 
are not wounded in the heart or the brain. So 
our friend laid dosvn his rifle and took instead a 
loaded shot-gun. " This is the thing for them," 
he said to himself: " it will pepper them all over 
and scare them so they never will come again." 
Then, with gun in hand he silently climbed the pro- 
jecting logs at the nearest corner of the cabin, and 
creeping across the roof, peeped over the edge 
above the place where the sheep was hung. Some- 
thing appeared to be moving below in the dark- 
ness. Taking a random aim, he blazed away. 
The shot scattered and evidently took effect; for 
there arose a chorus of growls and howls and yells 
that would have made the bravest man's hair stand 
on end ; there was a scampering and shuffling of 
many feet up and down, and around the cabin ; even 
in the thick darkness he could see many great fat 
creatures running and sniffing angrily about to find 
who had attacked them. He saw that he was be- 
sieged on his own roof by at least a dozen furious, 
hungry bears. " They did n't scare worth a cent," 
he said. It was not long before they discovered 
whence the shot had come, and knowing very well 
that there is strength in numbers, they determined 
to have that man for supper, even if they had to 
put off their supper till breakfast-time. So while 
some sat down here and there, the others walked 
about, grunting and growling over their injuries. 
Bears can climb quite as well as men, and old 

Frank stood with fear and trembling in the middle 
of the roof, ready to receive with the butt of his 
gun the first nose that should rise above the edge. 
If two had happened to mount the roof on opposite 
sides, there would have been a small chance of life 
for the poor man. But the bears thought that solid 
ground was the safer place for them, so there they 
staid ; and up above sat old Frank shivering, how 
long he never knew. It seemed centuries. It was 
a sharp, frosty autumn night, and, as he had on 
very little clothing, Frank was soon chilled almost 
to his bones. But the bears' coats were warm 
enough. They were more hungry than they were 
cold, so there they sat and growled and waited for 
their prey to come down and be eaten. Soon a 
bitterly cold wind began to blow. Every joint in 
the poor man's body stiffened ; but it seemed pleas- 
anter to freeze to death than to be eaten up by those 
ugly beasts, so he bore his discomfort as best he 
could. The hours of that night seemed to be 
endless, and the chill grew terrible ; but at last 
a dull gray streak appeared in the East. No man 
was ever more glad to see the first sign of dawn 
than was that chilly watcher. Bears are very shy 
by daylight, and as the twilight little by little grew 
into broad day, Frank's visitors trotted away dis- 
appointed and sulky up to their dens on the moun- 
tain. Their victim, more dead than alive, was able 
at last to climb down, and kindle a fire to warm 
himself. He still lives to tell the story in the 
same log cabin ; but it has a good stout door now, 
and he will never again go bear-hunting with a shot- 

So you see it is quite as pleasant not to have the 
bear families too neighborly. They rarely come 
out of the woods by daylight, except in late sum- 
mer and autumn when the plum-thickets are hang- 
ing full of fruit ; and so, fortunately, we do not 
often see them. 

The most sociable of all our wild neighbors 
is the prong-horned antelope, of which there are 
several bands running up and down the park. Every 
day as I ride out to the horse range I meet some 
of them ; often, in suddenly mounting the crest of 
a ridge, I surprise a little herd grazing just beyond. 
Then it is beautiful to watch them as they bound 
gracefully away down the slope with the speed 
of a bird, seeming hardly to touch their slender 
limbs to the ground as they fly along. Gip likes 
nothing better than to go tearing after them as 
long as his breath holds out ; though that small dog 
always finds it a hopeless chase, for only greyhounds 
and the swiftest horses can overtake the antelope 
when it is strong and fat from feeding freely on the 
fresh June grass. 

Returning a little while ago, after many weeks 
of civilized life in a Colorado town, I found the 




old cabin deserted ; for those who had been my 
companions there had gone far out on the plains 
to look after our wandering cattle. In the late 
afternoon, when the peak's shadow fell across the 
valley, while I was busy making ready the simple 
supper, Gip stood in the doorway on guard, and 
I heard him give a long, low growl of suspicion. 
Looking out, I saw two pretty antelopes standing 
before the door, not a stone's throw away, peering 
about in a timid, curious way to see what change 

had come over the little house which before had 
been so quiet. It is not common to see them so 
very near, and they were so pretty and graceful 
that I could only stand and admire them for a 
moment, forgetting my need of fresh meat. Their 
little hook-shaped horns and dainty hoofs are as 
black as polished jet ; their eyes are very large and 
soft and dark ; their bodies are a bright tawny color, 
but the throat and breast and limbs are snowy 
white. There are few animals in the world that 



are more elegant both in shape and in their move- 
ments than the prong-horned antelope. They 
came tripping down the slope with all the airs and 
graces of two little dandies ; now trotting easily 
forward ; now clearing a fallen tree with a beauti- 
ful flying leap ; now stopping a moment to gaze 


and sniff about for possible danger. It was quite 
flattering to a lonely hermit to receive a visit from 
neighbors as handsome and stylish as these. But, 
though a friendly visit would be very pleasant, a 
full larder would be still pleasanter. 
Fortunately for my shy visitors, all 
the arms and ammunition had been 
stowed away while the house was ~S 
closed, and could not be procured 
before the wary creatures had trotted 
on out of easy rifle range. 

Once in two weeks comes the prin- ; : . 

cipal event of my backwoods life, — 
a horseback ride of about forty miles 
to carry letters to the nearest ranch, 
and to get those that have collected 
there. After riding a few miles along 
the valley and through a pass, I come 
out upon the open rolling country 
that stretches away for hundreds of miles without 
any covering of trees or bushes except along the 
streams ; for this western prairie land is so dry 

that only grass and cactus and low herbs can grow 
upon it. The rolling land is green, and spangled 
with flowers through May and June; but after mid- 
summer it becomes as dry as a desert, and in that 
way kind Providence changes the standing grass 
into hay which will feed the thousands of cattle and 
horses and wild creatures 
through the winter. 

As I ride out of the pass 
on these regular journeys 
for the mail, a coyote, or 
prairie wolf, that lives close 
by among the rocks, often 
comes rushing out with a 
doleful howl, and acts as if 
wishing to make acquaint- 
ance with Gip. Both the 
wolf and Gip seem to un- 
derstand that they are blood 
relations. They are nearly 
of equal size, and they run 
up to each other as if they 
would like to be friends; but 
when they are close together, 
the courage of one or the 
other always fails. Either 
Gip turns tail, allowing the 
wolf to chase him within a 
dozen steps of the horse's 
heels, — or the wolf takes 
alarm, and Gip runs madly 
after it until it disappears 
over a ridge. So the wild 
dog and the tame one make 
little progress in theirfriend- 
ship. Vet it is not a very uncommon thing in the 
Far West even for gentle and intelligent dogs to 
form a friendship with a pack of wolves, and to go 
off and live with them, returning now and then to 

r >^g 

- .. :~ ^ .*-*■- 


pay short visits to their old masters. But more 
often if a dog falls in with a pack of wolves, he is 
quickly torn in pieces by them. 





Early in th 
rather it 

e morn 
cap of 

ing, before the peak has begun 
thunder clouds which break in 


showers every afternoon, 
and while the air through 
the whole valley is cool 
and very sweet with the 
perfume of a million 
flowers, I start out for 
my daily ride. First 
there is a mile over the 
rich grassland along the 
creek where the gay flow- 
ers grow in far greater va- 
riety and beauty than in 
any Eastern fields ; then 
there is a long stretch of 
dry, rolling land which 
is all one great city of 
prairie-dogs. At the 
approach of strangers 
there is great excitement 
through this town of 
little yellow pigmies. 
Those which are look- 
ing out from the highest 
point give a few warning 
Then there is a tremendous scattering and 

scampering in all directions of the fat, short-legged 





little bodies in so hot haste that they look like balls 
of yellow fur rolling across the gravel. Some have 
been out feeding, and more have been about gos- 
siping with their neighbors and making morning 


calls, for they are famous little busybodies : but 
when they hear the warning, all fly at full speed 
to their own homes. Then when every one is sitting 
at the mouth of its hole, they are ready to defy the 
world. For a man and a horse they care little, 
but at the sight of a dog, the city is in an uproar ; 
and, feeling perfectly safe by their own homes, they 
delight to tease him. There is such a Babel of 
shrill little voices chattering, scolding, squealing, 
and yelping from hundreds of gravel-heaps, that 
Gip stands for a minute perplexed, not knowing 
on which one to spring first ; then like a flash he 
darts away to the nearest hole where a jolly little 
tormentor is chattering its defiance. The prairie- 
dog stands still in the doorway of its house, scold- 
ing and twitching its tail as its enemy comes 

charging down, until (rip's nose seems almost upon 
it ; then as quick as a wink, the little tail flies up 
and Mr. Prairie-Dog is far away into the earth by 
the time Gip has fairly reached the door of his 
house. Then every dog in the town 
redoubles its chattering, and it seems 
as if a ripple of low laughter ran 
through the company at the disap- 
pointment of their enemy. But Gip, 
after ramming his head as far as it can 
be forced into the burrow, draws it 
out with a sniff of regret and then is 
oft" again, full tilt, after the next little 
saucy rascal that sits on a neighbor- 
ing sandheap, making merry over 
his perplexity. Again he almost has 
one ; the prairie-dog sits unmoved 
until Gip comes within a yard of the 
hole, and then it vanishes. It seems 
a very narrow escape for it ; but it 
is always just so narrow, and yet they 
always escape. As long as man and 
dog are in sight they keep up their 
shrill din, like the chattering of a 
thousand monkeys ; and as long as we 
are in their village, Gip flies madly 
from hole to hole, always just so eager 
and hopeful, though he has been chas- 
ing them all his life and has never 
yet caught one. 

The town of the prairie-dogs is in a 
beautiful situation. It lies in the 
broadest part of the park, surrounded 
by the highest and grandest of the 
mountains. A few days ago, as I was 
riding through it in the early morn- 
ing, I saw an animal some distance 
ahead running hard toward the woods. 
Thinking it was a wolf or coyote, I 
paid little attention at first, but look- 
ing closer, I saw plainly that I was 
mistaken, for its legs were short, and its body 
long and heavy. It went springing over the grass 
with long bounds, and its coat of fur was grayish, 
shading to yellow brown ; and I knew it must be 
one of the great panthers which are generally 
called mountain lions. I had never before met one, 
though their great, round footprints, as large as 
tea-plates, had often been seen in the soft snow 
the last winter. Like other cats, they like to sleep 
in the day and to prowl at night. Gip took a 
long, wistful look at the lion ; but he is a small 
dog, and a very wise one, and he knew his life 
would be short if he should approach very near 
to that great creature, so he went back to his 
hard work with the prairie-dogs, and left me to 
go galloping off alone for a nearer view of the 



lion. But Monkey dislikes wild beasts quite as 
much as Gip, and would never willingly have car- 
ried me very near to a beast of prey, even if the 
lion had not run up into the rocks on the mount- 
ain-side before I had seen it very clearly. 

Beside the rough confusion of rocks into which 
the panther ran, there was a gentle grassy slope 
which seemed to extend to the top of the mountain. 

I wanted to have one more look at the big cat, 
so Monkey had to climb the long ascent, much 
against his will, keeping as near to the rocks as 
possible ; and very soon Gip plucked up courage 
to follow ; but that was the last we ever saw of 
the mountain lion. However, in wandering up 
near the top of the mountain, I came on tracks 
that were quite as interesting to me as was the lion. 
They were the marks of a cloven hoof, nearly as 
large as the tracks of an ox, but longer and more 
pointed. As there were no cattle so high on the 
mountain, it was plain, at a glance, that they were 
footprints of the great wapiti, which, in the West, 
is always called an elk. Hurrying on in hope of 
catching sight of this great king of the forest, the 
footprints grew fresher, and soon I came to a glade 
where the grass, crushed down in spots, showed 
that a startled band of elk had just risen from 
their rest, and run away ; and so, like a will-o'-the- 
wisp, they led me on through the forest, always 
letting me know- that they were near, by their 
fresh tracks, but never quite near enough to be- 
seem The elk and the big-horned sheep are the 
shyest of all these wild animals ; and the elk have 
the senses of sight and smell and hearing so very 
keen, that they will see a hunter, and will run from 
him, a dozen times for every time that he gets a 
first sight of them. Their great branching ant- 
lers, so large and heavy that a small boy could 
hardly lift them from the ground, lie scattered 
everywhere through the grass in the park, for they 
shed them every spring ; and everywhere on the 
mountain-sides we find their footprints ; and yet 

it is quite a rare event to meet them, and still 
more uncommon to kill them. 

So all day long, with my pony and my dog, I 


wandered contentedly along the mountain-side, 
resting often under cool over-arching rocks or be- 
side the snow-fed brooks, the banks of which are 
streaked with the crimson of the wild cyclamen ; 
and all day long we tried to pay visits to our shy 
neighbors ; but wherever we called, they were not 
at home. And, when the late afternoon began to 
drop blue, gauzy veils of shadows over the east- 
ward slope of the opposite mountain, we turned 
back toward the lonely, silent home, which now 
never hears the sweet sound of human speech. 

I can not now tell you of all the queer inhabi- 
tants of these mountains ; but next time I shall 
have something to say to you about the beaver, 
the wild sheep, the buffalo, and some other inter- 
esting neighbors of mine. 


By William H. Hayne. 

A SOUTH wind sought the baby's cheek. 
Fresh from a laughing billow, 

And blew in elfish glee against 
The small face on the pillow. 





By Maria J. Hammond. 

Ho ! THE great monster, the Sea ! 

Rushing and raging about, 
Lashing his tail, — he must be 

Hungry and frantic, no doubt! 
Oh, should he open his lips, — 
Woe to the beautiful ships ! 
Beautiful ships, keep away 
From the great monster to-day ! 
Ho ! the wild creature — the Sea ! 
Hungry and fierce he must be ! 

Lo ! the great monster, asleep, 

Lying so quietly there ! 
Hear his low breathings so deep ! 

See the wind waving his hair ! 
Ho, little children, come near — 
Come now and see him ! — Don't fear. 
Touch his soft mane in your play,- ■ 
He will not harm you to-day. 
Lo ! the huge creature asleep — 
Breathing so low and so deep ! 

^ ^l-X^$fi*. 

/■'; ' 


j 886. J 

A S A D C A S E . 



By Margaret Yandegrift. 

Miss Dorothea Dimpleton, whenever she went 

Held in her neatly mittened hand a silken reticule ; 
When she went to shop, to market, or to visit all 

She carried it, as if upon her way to sewing-school. 
'T was always full, and yet her dearest friends had 

never heard 
What 't was full of, so they all agreed her conduct 

was absurd. 

Miss Dorothea Dimpleton had early learned to sew ; 
She could hem, and fell, and overscan), could 

gather and could gore ; 
And she said, " This is an art that every woman 

ought to know, 
But, alas ! my sex disdains to learn the useful any 

more ! 
Yet I will not be discouraged; I will do my small 

And perchance I may prevent the art from being 

lost forever ! " 

So she filled with pretty "hussifs"* her ample 

Each stocked with thimble, needlecase, and scis- 
sors, all complete, 

And she stopped the little maidens on their way 
from morning school, 

And to each of them she kindly gave a " hussif " 
fresh and neat. 

And the little maids said, " Thank you, Ma'am ! " 
and curtseyed to the ground, 

And then went and hid the "hussifs" where 
they seldom could be found. 

Miss Dorothea Dimpleton felt very sure, at last. 
That every little girl in town was sewing with a 

will ; 
And it was not till at least a year of feeling sure Hut that, you know, was years ago, before it had 

Of all those lovely "hussifs" she had given in 

the place, 
There had not been a needle in one single needle- 

was past, 

been said, 

That she heard a truth so dreadful that it really " Be sure you 're right, and" (please observe the 
made her ill : " then ") " then go ahead ! " 

By Mary E. Wilkixs. 

She sat in her little rocking-chair, a-sighing and twirling her thumbs : 
" Oh, everything for my doll is done, and never to mending comes ! 
I have n't a morsel of sewing ! — Dear Mother, in all the town, 
Can't you find me one doll, no matter how small, who will wear out her gown ? " 

' Hussif" (a contracted form of the word " house-wife ") was formerly used as a name for a little bag or case for holding sewing materials. 




By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

Chapter XI. 

When Mr. Hobbs's young friend left him to go 
to Dorincourt Castle and become Lord Fauntleroy, 
and the grocery-man had time to realize that the 
Atlantic Ocean lay between himself and the small 
companion who had spent so many agreeable hours 
in his society, he really began to feel very lonely 
indeed. The fact was, Mr. Hobbs was not a clever 
man nor even a bright one ; he was, indeed, rather a 
slow and heavy person, and he had never made 
many acquaintances. He was not mentally ener- 
getic enough to know how to amuse himself, and in 
truth he never did anything of an entertaining 
nature but read the newspapers and add up his 
accounts. It was not very easy for him to add up 
his accounts, and sometimes it took him a long 
time to bring them out right ; and in the old days, 
little Lord Fauntleroy, who had learned how to 
add up quite nicely with his fingers and a slate 
and pencil, had sometimes even gone to the 
length of trying to help him ; and, then too, he had 
been so good a listener and had taken such an 
interest in what the newspaper said, and he and 
Mr. Hobbs had held such long conversations about 
the Revolution and the British and the elections 
and the Republican party, that it was no wonder 
his going left a blank in the grocery store. At 
first it seemed to Mr. Hobbs that Cedric was not 
really far away, and would come back again ; that 
some day he would look up from his paper and 
see the lad standing in the doorway, in his white 
suit and red stockings, and with his straw hat on the 
back of his head, and would hear him say in his 
cheerful little voice : " Hello, Mr. Hobbs ! This 
is a hot day — is n't it ? " But as the days passed on 
and this did not happen, Mr. Hobbs felt very dull 
and uneasy. He did not even enjoy his news- 
paper as much as he used to. He would put the 
paper down on his knee after reading it, and sit 
and stare at the high stool for a long time. There 
were some marks on the long legs which made 
him feel quite dejected and melancholy. They 
were marks made by the heels of the next Earl of 
Dorincourt, when he kicked and talked at the 
same time. It seems that even youthful earls kick 
the legs of things they sit on : — noble blood and 
lofty lineage do not prevent it. After looking at 
those marks, Mr. Hobbs would take out his gold 
watch and open it and stare at the inscription : 
" From his oldest friend. Lord Fauntlerov. to Mr. 

Hobbs. When this you see, remember me." And 
after staring at it awhile, he would shut it up with 
a loud snap, and sigh and get up and go and 
stand in the doorway — between the box of potatoes 
and the barrel of apples — and look up the street. 
At night, when the store was closed, he would light 
his pipe and walk slowly along the pavement until 
he reached the house where Cedric had lived, on 
which there was a sign that read, " This House 
to Let " ; and he would stop near it and look up 
and shake his head, and puff at his pipe very hard, 
and after a while walk mournfully back again. 

This went on for two or three weeks before any 
new idea came to him. Being slow and ponderous, 
it always took him a long time to reach a new idea. 
As a rule he did not like new ideas, but preferred 
old ones. After two or three weeks, however, 
during which, instead of getting better, matters 
read)' grew worse, a novel plan slowly and deliber- 
ately dawned upon him. He would go to see Dick. 
He smoked a great many pipes before he arrived 
at the conclusion, but finally he did arrive at it. 
He would go to see Dick. He knew all about Dick. 
Cedric had told him, and his idea was that perhaps 
Dick might be some comfort to him in the way of 
talking things over. 

So one day when Dick was yery hard at work 
blacking a customer's boots, a short, stout man 
with a heavy face and a bald head, stopped on the 
pavement and stared for two or three minutes at 
the bootblack's sign, which read : 

" Professor Dick Tipton 
Can't be eeat." 

He stared at it so long that Dick began to take a 
lively interest in him, and when he had put the 
finishing touch to his customer's boots, he said : 

" Want a shine, sir ? " 

The stout man came forward deliberately and 
put his foot on the rest. 

•' Yes," he said. 

Then when Dick fell to work, the stout man look- 
ed from Dick to the sign and from the sign to Dick. 

" Where did you get that?" he asked. 

" From a friend o' mine," said Dick, — " a little 
feller. He guv' me the whole outfit. He was the 
best little feller ye ever saw. He 's in England 
now. Gone to be one o' those lords." 

" Lord — Lord — "asked Mr. Hobbs, with pon- 
derous slowness, "Lord Fauntleroy — Goin' to be 
Earl of Dorincourt?" 



Dick almost dropped his brush. 

''Why, boss !" he exclaimed, "d'ye know him 
yerself ? " 

" I 've known him." answered Mr. Hobbs, wip- 
ing his warm forehead, "ever since he was born. 
We were lifetime acquaintances — that 's what we 

It really made him feel quite agitated to speak 
of it. He pulled the splendid gold watch out of 
his pocket and opened it, and showed the inside 
of the case to Dick. 

" ' When this you see, remember me.' " he read. 
" That was his parting keepsake to me. ' I don't 
want you to forget me' — those were his words — 
I 'd ha' remembered him," he went on, shaking 
his head, "if he had n't given me a thing, an' I 
had n't seen hide nor hair on him again. He was 
a companion as any man would remember." 

"He was the nicest little feller I ever see," 
said Dick. "An' as to sand — I never ha' seen 
so much sand to a little feller. I thought a heap 
o' him, I did, — an' we was friends, too — we was 
sort o' chums from the fust, that little young un 
an' me. I grabbed his ball from under a stage 
fur him, an' he never forgot it ; an' he 'd come 
down here, he would, with his mother or his 
nuss an' he' d holler : ' Hello, Dick ! ' at me. as 
friendly as if he was six feet high, when he war n't 
knee high to a grasshopper, and was dressed in 
gal's clo'es. He was a gay little chap, and when 
you was down on your luck, it did you good to talk 
to him." 

" That 's so," said Mr. Hobbs. " It was a pity to 
make an earl out of Aim. He would have shone in 
the grocery business — or dry goods either; he 
would have shone /" And he shook his head with 
deeper regret than ever. 

It proved that they had so much to say to each 
other that it was not possible to say it all at one 
time, and so it was agreed that the next night 
Dick should make a visit' to the store and keep 
Mr. Hobbs company. The plan pleased Dick well 
enough. He had been a street waif nearly all 
his life, but he had never been a bad boy, and 
he had always had a private yearning for a more 
respectable kind of existence. Since he had been 
in business for himself, he had made enough 
money to enable him to sleep under a roof instead 
of out in the streets, and he had begun to hope he 
might reach even a higher plane, in time. So, to 
be invited to call on a stout, respectable man who 
owned a corner store, and even had a horse and 
wagon, seemed to him quite an event. 

"Do you know anything about earls and cas- 
tles?" Mr. Hobbs inquired. " I 'd like to know 
more of the particklars." 

"There 's a storv about some on 'em in the 

Penny Story Gazette" said Dick. " It 's called 
the ' Crime of a Coronet; or, the Revenge of the 
Countess May.' It 's a boss thing, too. Some of 
us boys 're takin' it to read." 

" Bring it up when you come," said Mr. Hobbs, 
"' an' I '11 pay for it. Bring all you can find that have 
any earls in 'em. If there are n't earls, markises 
'11 do, or dooks — though lie never made mention 
of any dooks or markises. We did go over coronets 
a little, but I never happened to see any. I guess 
they don't keep 'em 'round here." 

" Tiffany 'd have 'em if anybody did," said 
Dick, "but I don't know as I 'd know one if I 
saw it." 

Mr. Hobbs did not explain that he would not 
have known one if he saw it. He merely shook 
his head ponderously. 

" I s'pose there is very little call for 'em," he 
said, and that ended the matter. 

This was the beginning of quite a substantial 
friendship. When Dick went up to the store, Mr. 
Hobbs received him with great hospitality. He 
gave him a chair tilted against the door, near a 
barrel of apples, and after his young visitor was 
seated, he made a jerk at them with the hand in 
which he held his pipe, saying : 

"Help yerself." 

Then he looked at the story papers, and after 
that they read, and discussed the British aristoc- 
racy ; and Mr. Hobbs smoked his pipe very hard 
and shook his head a great deal. He shook it most 
when he pointed out the high stool with the marks 
on its legs. 

" There 's his very kicks," he said impressively; 
"his very kicks. I sit and look at 'em by the 
hour. This is a world of ups an' it 's a world of 
downs. Why, he 'd set there, an' eat crackers out 
of a box, an' apples out of a barrel, an' pitch his 
cores into the street ; an' now he 's a lord a-livin' 
in a castle. Those are a lord's kicks ; they '11 be an 
earl's kicks some day. Sometimes I says to my- 
self, says I, 'Well, I '11 be jiggered !'" 

He seemed to derive a great deal of comfort 
from his reflections and Dick's visit. Before Dick 
went home, they had a supper in the small back- 
room ; they had crackers and cheese and sardines, 
and other canned things out of the store, and Mr. 
Hobbs solemnly opened two bottles of ginger ale. 
and pouring out two glasses, proposed a toast. 

"Here's to him!" he said, lifting his glass, 
"an' may he teach 'em a lesson — earls an' markises 
an' dooks an' all ! " 

After that night, the two saw each other often, 
and Mr. Hobbs was much more comfortable and 
less desolate. They read the Penny Story Gazette, 
and many other interesting things, and gained a 
knowledge of the habits of the nobility and gentry 




which would have surprised those despised classes 
if they had realized it. One day Mr. Hobbs made 
a pilgrimage to a book store down town, for the 
express purpose of adding to their library. He 
went to a clerk and leaned over the counter to 
speak to him. 

" I want," he said, " a book about earls." 

"What ! " exclaimed the clerk. 

" A book," repeated the grocery-man, "about 

" I 'm afraid," said the clerk, looking rather 
queer, " that we have n't what you want." 

" Have n't? "said Mr. Hobbs, anxiously. " Well, 
say markises then — or dooks." 

" I know of no such book," answered the clerk. 

Mr. Hobbs was much disturbed. He looked 
down on the floor, — then he looked 

And as Mr. Hobbs heard of Queen Mary's deeds 
and the habit she had of chopping people's heads 
off, putting them to the torture, and burning them 
alive, he became very much excited. He took his 
pipe out of his mouth and stared at Dick, and at 
last he was obliged to mop the perspiration from 
his brow with his red pocket handkerchief. 

"None about female 
earls ? " he inquired. 

" I 'm afraid not," said 
the clerk, with a smile. 

" Well," exclaimed Mr. 
Hobbs, "I '11 be jiggered ! " 

He was just going out of 
the store, when the clerk 
called him back and asked 
him if a story in which th 
characters would do 
if he could not get 
earls. So the clerk sold him a book called " The 
Tower of London," written by Mr. Harrison Ains- 
worth, and he carried it home. 

When Dick came they began to read it. It 
was a very wonderful and exciting book, and the 
scene was laid in the reign of the famous English 
queen who is called by some people Bloody Mary. 


nobility were chief 

Mr. Hobbs said it would — 

an entire volume devoted to 

" Why, heaintsafe ! "he said. 
He aint safe ! If the women 
folks can sit up on their thrones an' give the word 
for things like that to be done, who 's to know 
what's happening to him this very minute ? He 
's no more safe than nothing? Just let a woman 
like that get mad, an' no one 's safe ! " 

'• Well," said Dick, though he looked rather 
anxious himself; " ye see this 'ere un is n't the one 
that 's bossin' things now. I know her name 's 



Victohry, an' this un here in the book, — her name 
's Mary." 

" So it is," said Mr. Hobbs, still mopping his 
forehead; "so it is. An' the newspapers are not 
sayin' anything about any racks, thumbscrews, or 
stake-burnin's, — but still it does n't seem as if 't 
was safe for him over there with those queer folks. 
Whv, they tell me they don't keep the Fourth o' 

He was privately uneasy for several days ; and 
it was not until he received Fauntleroy's letter 
and had read it several times, both to himself and 
to Uick, and had also read the letter Dick got 
about the same time, that he became composed 

But they both found great pleasure in their let- 
ters. They read and re-read them, and talked them 
over and enjoyed every word of them. And they 
spent days over the answers they sent, and read 
them over almost as often as the letters they had 

It was rather a labor for Dick to write his. All 
his knowledge of reading and writing he had 
gained during a few months when he had lived 
with his elder brother, and had gone to a night- 
school ; but, being a sharp boy, he had made the 
most of that brief education, and had spelled out 
things in newspapers since then, and practiced 
writing with bits of chalk on pavements or walls 
or fences. He told Mr. Hobbs all about his life 
and about his elder brother, who had been rather 
good to him after their mother died, when 
Dick was quite a little fellow. Their father had 
died some time before. The brother's name was 
Ben, and he had taken care of Dick as well as he 
could, until the boy was old enough to sell news- 
papers and run errands. They had lived together, 
and as he grew older Ben had managed to get 
along until he had quite a decent place in a store. 

"And then," exclaimed Dick with disgust, 
" blest if he did n't go an' marry a gal ! Just went 
and got spoony, an' had n't any more sense left ! 
Married her, an' set up housekeepin' in two back 
rooms. An' a hefty un she was, — a regular tiger-cat. 
She 'd tear things to pieces when she got mad, — 
and she was mad all the time. Had a baby just 
like her, — yell day 'n' night ! An' if I did n't 
have to 'tend it ! an' when it screamed, she 'd fire 
things at me. She fired a plate at me one day. 
an' hit the baby — cut its chin. Doctor said he 'd 
carry the mark till he died. A nice mother she 
was ! Crackey ! but did n't we have a time —Ben 
'n' mehself 'n' the young un. She was mad at Ben 
because he did n't make money faster ; 'n' at last 
he went out West with a man to set up a cattle 
ranch. An' he had n't been gone a week 'fore, 
one night, I got home from sellin' my papers, 
VOL. XIII — 47. 

'n' the rooms wus locked up 'n' empty, 'n' the 
woman o' the house, she told me Minna 'd gone 
— shown a clean pair o' heels. Some un else said 
she 'd gone across the water to be nuss to a lady 
as had a little baby, too. Never heard a word of 
her since — nuther has lien. If I 'd ha' bin him, I 
would n't ha' fretted a bit — 'n' I guess he did n't. 
But he thought a heap o' her at the start. Tell 
you, he was spoons on her. She was a daisy- 
lookin' gal, too, when she was dressed up, 'n' not 
mad. She 'd big black eyes 'n' black hair down to 
her knees ; she 'd make it into a rope as big as 
your arm, and twist it 'round 'n' 'round her head ; 
'n' I tell you her eyes 'd snap ! Folks used to say 
she was part /tali-un — said her mother or father 
'd come from there, 'n' it made her queer. I tell 
ye, she was one of 'em — she was ! " 

He often told Mr. Hobbs stories of her and of 
his brother Ben, who, since his going out West, 
had written once or twice to Dick. Ben's luck had 
not been good, and he had wandered from place to 
place ; but at last he had settled on a ranch in 
California, where he was at work at the time when 
Dick became acquainted with Mr. Hobbs. 

" That gal," said Dick one day, " she took all 
the grit out o' him. I could n't help feelin' sorry 
for him sometimes." 

They were sitting in the store door-way together, 
and Mr. Hobbs was filling his pipe. 

"He ought n't to 've married," he said sol- 
emnly, as he rose to get a match. " Women — I 
never could see any use in 'em, myself." 

As he took the match from its box, he stopped 
and looked down on the counter. 

"Why!" he said, "if here is n't a letter! I 
did n't see it before. The postman must have 
laid it down when I was n't noticin', or the news- 
paper slipped over it." 

He picked it up and looked at it carefully. 

"It 's from him.'" he exclaimed. "That 's 
the very one it 's from ! " 

He forgot his pipe altogether. He went back 
to his chair quite excited and took his pocket-knife 
and opened the envelope. 

" I wonder what news there is this time, " he 

And then he unfolded the letter and read as 
follows : 

" Dokincocrt Castle 
" My dear Mr Hobbs 

" i write this in a great hury becaus i have something curous to tell 
you i know you will be very mutch supnsed my dear frend when i 
tel vou. It is all a mistake and i am not a lord and i shall not have 
to be an earl there is a lady whitch was marid to my uncle bevis who 
is dead and she has a little boy and he is lord fauntleroy becaus 
that is the way it is in England the earls eldest sons little boy is the 
earl if every body else is dead i mean if his farther and grandfarther 
are dead my grandfarther is not dead but my uncle bevis is and so 
his boy is lord Fauntleroy and I am not becaus my papa was the 




rob him of his rights because he 's an American. 
They 'vc had a spite agin us ever since the Revo- 
lution, an' they 're takin' it out on him. I told you 
he was n't safe, an' see what 's happened ! Like 
as not, the whole gover'ment's got together to rob 
him of his lawful ownin's." 

He was very much agitated. He had not ap- 
proved of the change in his young friend's circum- 
stances at first, but lately he had become more 
reconciled to it, and after the receipt of Cedric's 
letter he had perhaps even felt some secret pride 
in his young friend's magnificence. He might not 
have a good opinion of earls, but he knew that 
even in America money was considered rather an 
agreeable thing, and if all the wealth and gran- 
dropped on his knee, his penknife slipped to the deur were to go with the title, it must be rather 
floor, and so did the envelope. hard to lose it. 

" Well ! " he ejaculated, " I am jiggered ! " " They're trying to rob him ! " he said, "that 's 

He was so dumbfounded that he actually what they 're doing, and folks that have money 
changed his exclamation. It had always been his ought to look after him." 

habit to say, ''I wiWbe. jiggered," but this time And he kept Dick with him until quite a late 

he said, " I am jiggered." Perhaps he really was hour to talk it over, and when that young man 

jiggered. There is no knowing. left, he went with him to the corner of the street; 

" Well," said Dick, '' the whole thing 's bust up, and on his way back he stopped opposite the 

youngest son and my name is Cedric Errol like it was when I was in 
New York and all the things will belong to the other boy i thought 
at first i should have to give him my pony and cart but my grand- 
farther says i need not my grandfather is very sorry and i think he 
does not like the lady but preaps he thinks dearest and i are Sony 
becaus i shall not be an earl i would like to be an earl now better 
than i thouti would at first becaus this is a beautifle castle and i like 
every body so and when you are rich you can do so many things i 
am not rich now becaus when your papa is only the youngest son he 
is not very rich i am going to learn to work so that I can take care 
of dearest i have been asking Wilkins about grooming horses preaps 
i might be a groom or a coachman, the lady brought her little boy to 
the castle and my grandfather and Mr. Havisham talked to her i 
think she was angry she talked loud and my grandfarther was angry 
too i never saw him angry before i wish it did not make them all 
mad i thort i would tell you and Dick right away becaus you would 
be intrusted so no more at present with love from 

" your old frend " Cedric Errol (Not lord r'auntleroy)." 

Mr. Hobbs fell back in his chair, the letter 

has n't it?" 

"Bust! "said Mr. Hobbs. "It's my opinion 
it 's all a put-up job o' the British 'ristycrats to 

C To be continued.) 

empty house for some time, staring at the " To 
Let," and smoking his pipe, in much disturbance 

of mind. 





By Ripley Hitchcock. 

When the Hudson 
first seen by St. Nicholas, 
by his image, which was 
head of the Dutch ship 
Vrouw, there were more 
the water than there 
grapes about the Indian 
which stood where New 

River was 
or rather 
the figure - 
G o o d e 
salmon in 
were wild 
York City 

stands to-day. That was a few years after the redis- 
covery of the river by Henry Hudson in 1609.* But, 
in course of time, the salmon went the way of the 
Indians. The last native Hudson River salmon 
was caught in a net in New York bay about 1844 ; 
but, more recently, attempts have been made arti- 
ficially to stock that river and others with this 
fish, and within two years a few have been caught, 
the only salmon taken from the Hudson in forty 
years, f When St. Nicholas made his first visit 

* Verrazani, a Florentine navigator, is now believed to have been 
the original discoverer of the Hudson, about 1525. 

t About three hundred thousand salmon fry have been planted in 
the upper waters ofthe Hudson each year, since 1S82. In 18S4, a 
salmon weighing four pounds was taken near Hudson, New York, 
and several yearling salmon were caught, a year ago, in a stream 
tributary to the Hudson. Last spring, a salmon weighing ten 
pounds was taken in Gravesend Bay, and there have been other 
similar results from the work done by Mr. Fred Mather, Superin- 
tendent ofthe New York Fish Commission, in charge of the station 
at Cold Spring Harbor, Long Island. It is thought that the Hud- 
son was never much frequented by salmon for the purpose of spawn- 
ing, on account of Cohoes' and Miller's Falls. Eut the fish were 

to our shores, there were salmon in every river 
along the Atlantic coast, north of the Delaware. 
But, as fishermen became numerous, as dams 
were built across the rivers, and as the water 
was made impure by town and city drainage, the 
salmon were driven northward, just as the Indians 
were driven westward. The salmon were forced 
to leave the Connecticut — another river into which 
there has been hope of introducing them again ; they 
left the Merrimac when it was given over to manu- 
factories ; and now few salmon are to be found 
south of the rivers of eastern Maine. Beyond, they 
visit the rivers of the British Provinces, Labrador, 
the Hudson Bay country, and even Greenland, — for 
one variety of salmon is a fearless Arctic explorer, 
and penetrates the Arctic Circle. The salmon is 
as much at home in Iceland and Norway as in Eng- 
land, Scotland, and Ireland. On the north-western 
American coast, from northern California, Oregon, 
and Washington, to Alaska and beyond, there have 
always been vast numbers of this wonderful fish. 

I say wonderful, because the salmon is the king 
of all game fishes, and because he goes under so 
many names, and has habits so curious that he 
has puzzled naturalists for hundreds of years. And 
his pink flesh is so prized that the salmon fisheries 
on this continent alone yield millions of dollars 
every year. 

The gamy qualities of the salmon, which cause 
the fly-fisherman to rate him above all other fishes, 
are his enduring strength and his great activity. 
The salmon and the blue-fish are the strongest 
game fishes known, and the former reaches a far 
larger size than the latter. According to one 
writer, " the salmon and the sword-fish are the 
fastest swimmers of all the forked-tail fishes." 
Only a fast running-horse could outstrip a sal- 
mon ; for it is estimated that the salmon swims 
a mile in less than two minutes. But the horse 
would be left behind in a long race, for the 
fish can cover thirty miles in an hour. When 
leisurely ascending rivers, with frequent rests in 

formerly taken near the mouth of the river, and it is hoped that the 
entire river may be made a salmon stream, if it will '' grow salmon," 
by the construction of fish-ways which will enable the salmon to 
ascend the falls. Professor Baird, the United States Commissioner 
of Fish and Fisheries, restocked the Connecticut, where no salmon 
had been for twenty-five years, with such success that " Connecticut 
River salmon " were regularly quoted in the markets. But the 
fishermen caught out the spawning fish and foolishly depopulated 
the river so that the work was stopped, although I understand that 
another effort has been made recently. In the Penobscot River, m 
Maine, salmon have been hatched and cared for, until, this very 
season, there has been excellent salmon fishing in the neighbor- 
hood of the city of Bangor. — R. H. 







attractive pools, the salmon av- 
erages from fifteen to twenty- 
five miles a day. In leaping, 
the salmon can easily beat the 
horse, for salmon have leaped 
up waterfalls twelve feet high. 
It was formerly supposed that 
the salmon, when about to 
jump, bent himself double, 
and took his tail in his mouth, 
so that he was like an elastic 
bow drawn tight. Then it was 
thought that he suddenly let 
go, his tail striking the water 
with great force, and away he 
went through the air. But 
now we know that the salmon 
prepares for a leap just as a 
boy does, with a short, sharp 
run. If the water at the foot 
of the dam or fall is not deep 
enough to allow this prepara- 
tory run, the salmon can not 
jump. If there is water 
enough, he starts from the 
bottom, his powerful tail work- 
ing as rapidly as the propeller- 
screw of a steamship. Aided 
by the pectoral fins, the up- 
ward movement grows quicker 
and quicker, until with a last 
muscular effort the salmon 
shoots from the water, his tail 
still vibrating for an instant, 
then becoming motionless, as 
the fish curves through the 
air and comes down above 
the obstacle. If a dam be 
built so high as to be impas- 
sable, the salmon will leave 
the river altogether, for in- 
stinct always leads them to 
the head-waters, where they 
lay their eggs. So fish-ladders 
and fish- ways of various kinds 
have been invented to help 
salmon and other fishes to sur- 
mount natural or artificial bar- 
riers. Fish-ladders have been 
constructed by the aid of which 
salmon ascend falls over thirty 
feet high. As soon as salmon 
enter rivers on their way from 
the sea they begin to jump, 
like a crowd of boys just let 
out of school. Standing on 
the shore of a salmon river in 

June or July, you will every now and then see the 
fish leap four or five feet out of water, glistening 
like polished silver, then curving over and fall- 
ing with . a heavy splash. Or sometimes their 
back fins will roll lazily out of the water, and you 
will be reminded of a school of porpoises. But 
there is nothing lazy about the salmon when once 
he is hooked. If there is a twenty-five pound sal- 
mon at the end of your line, jumping nearly as 
high as your head in his struggles to rid himself 
of the hook, you will be sure to think of nothing 
except that fish. 

But before the salmon reaches a weight of 
twenty-five pounds, he appears in so many and so 
different forms that very wise men have been 
unable to recognize him. When the salmon is 
just hatched, he is known as fry, or fingerling. 
Then he becomes a parr, or samlet, also called 
pink, or brandling, on some foreign rivers. The 
parr changes to a smolt, the smolt to a grilse, and 
the grilse finally develops into the salmon. The 
latter, when running fresh from the sea, are called 
white salmon, and when they are descending 
rivers after spawning, they are termed kelts, or 
black salmon. Other names given to salmon after 
spawning-time are kippers and baggits, or shed- 
ders. So the salmon, like the royal fish that he 
is, has as many names as a prince of one of the 
royal families of Europe. The alevin, or baby 
salmon, is hatched in from thirty to one hundred 
days after the eggs are laid in furrows in gravelly 
beds which are scooped out by the parent fish, 
near the head-waters of cold, clear rivers. Pres- 
ently the alevin grows into the fry, or pink, which 
is an absurd little fish about an inch long, goggle- 
eyed, and with dark bars on its sides. When some 
three months old, the fry makes a change like 
that of a chrysalis into a butterfly. It becomes 
a shapely little fish with a forked tail, and brilliant 
carmine spots shine out on its sides. Its back is 
of a dark slaty color, and the bars are less strongly 
marked as 

grows old- S* 
er. The 

greediest of 
trout is not 
more hun- 
gry and act- 
ive. I have 
often seen 

a dozen tiny parr jump from the water at my flies. 
Once, when coming down the Restigouche in a 
canoe, with our rods laid aside, and the flies dan- 
gling just over the water, two parr leaped together 
and hooked themselves, although they were hardly 
four inches long. These pretty little fishes, which 




one might readily mistake for trout, were once sup- 
posed to belong to a species entirely distinct from 
the salmon. Naturalists were also puzzled by find- 
ing that some parr remain for nearly three years in 
fresh water. So they concluded that these latter 
parr never went to sea at all, and considered them 

beautiful grilse. The grilse is more slender than 
the salmon, the tail more forked, the scales more 
easily removed, and the top of the head and of 
the fins is not quite so black. But the grilse's 
sheeny, satiny sides are even more brilliant than 
the salmon's, and it is more playful and active, 

a species by themselves, which they called Salmo although its strength is less enduring. After the 

stimulus. But nature was finally seen to be wiser than 
the naturalists. Nature has decreed that only half 
the parr hatched in a given winter shall go down 
to the sea at one time, and in this way protects 
the race from the chance of wholesale destruction. 
So we are now told that some of the parr develop 
more rapidly than others, and migrate to the sea in 
their second spring, while others remain in the river 
a year longer, and some for still another year. 

When the time for this migration approaches, 
the parr, which 
has been steadily 
growing plumper, 
undergoes another 
curious change. 
The carmine spots 
fade out, and the 

grilse has frolicked its way to the head of the 
river and spawned, it returns to the sea. When 







k ■■■: 

'•(;"•' / " 



^tH"VaV. : - 




gif; soft skin 

covered with sil- 
very scales which 
obscure the dark 
bars on the sides, 
although the 

scales can easily 
be rubbed away. 
At this period the young salmon is called a smolt, 
and the smolt was also a riddle to wise men, for 
a long time. It was thought that smolts which 
went down to the sea weighing three or four 
ounces, returned to the rivers in three months 
weighing six or eight pounds. Of course, such 
a gain as this was a very wonderful, indeed an 
unequaled performance, like the "swellin' wisibly" 
of the Fat Boy in the ''Pickwick Papers." It is 
now believed, however, that the smolt requires a 
year or fifteen months at sea for this great gain 
in weight. Then he returns to his native river, 
no longer an insignificant smolt, but a vigorous, 

it visits the river again, 
the next year, it has become a full- 

^rown salmon. These are the successive stages 

of the salmon's life. 

But, even in the last and most familiar stage, 
the salmon's habits are not fully understood. It 
is known that both young and old salmon, after 
descending a river, remain for a time in the 
brackish water at the river's mouth, where the)' get 
rid of fresh-water parasites which have become 
attached to their sides, and where their scales are 
hardened by a diet of small fish ; but where in 
the sea salmon go, no one knows. After leaving 
the coast, they disappear. They have been found 
in very deep water hundreds of miles from any 
salmon river; but their marine feeding-grounds 
are still undiscovered. In the spring they sud- 
denly re-appear at the mouths cf rivers, where they 
linger to free themselves from marine parasites. 
While in salt water, they will never jump at a fly ; 
but as soon as they enter the fresh water of the 
Canadian rivers, in June, the waiting Indians and 
fishermen see them rising freely out of the water. 
Yet much of this leaping is plainly only for sport, 
and many people claim that salmon actually eat 
nothing at all during the time that they are going 






up rivers. These rivers offer a succession of pools 
and rapids. In almost every pool, during the day- 
time in summer, there are salmon resting from 
the labor of stemming the current. It is said that 
at nieht thev are often to be found on the bars in 

river stimulates them into a rapid 
movement upward. When they de- 
scend rivers, they fall back much 
of the way tail foremost, although 
the distance may be over a hundred 
miles. Even a salmon can be 
drowned in swiftly running water. 
Often they make short runs down 
river, but they quickly wheel about 
and usually lie with their heads to 
the current. When they are de- 
scending, they are thin and rav- 
enous ; but they rapidly gain in 
plumpness after reaching the sea. 
In weight the salmon of the Cana- 
dian rivers average between twenty 
and twenty-five pounds. I suppose 
a season's catch would hardly aver- 
age more than twenty pounds, for it would include 
many grilse of from eight to ten pounds weight, 
and salmon weighing only five or six pounds more. 
A thirty-pound salmon is very large, and a forty- 
pound fish will be talked of throughout the season, 
although it issaid that salmon weighing fifty pounds 
have been caught in the Restigouche, — one, in- 
deed, was said to weigh fifty-four pounds. The 
Princess Louise, the daughter of the Queen of 
England and the wife of the Marquis of Lome, 
the former Governor-general of Canada, caught a 
forty-pound salmon in the Causapscal river, in the 
province of Quebec, a few years ago. Last sum- 


the shallow rapids above the pools. If the water 
is low they ascend very slowly, but any rise in the 

mer I employed one of 
the two canoe- men who 
were with the Princess at 
the time, and he had a 
great deal to say about her skill in handling that 
salmon. I don't think he cared much about other 
members of the royal family, but " The Princess, 
sir, she was a good un with the rod." Salmon 
weighing sixty pounds are taken now and then in 
Scotch rivers, and a few rivers in England still 



yield large fish. Sir John Hawkins speaks of a sal- 
mon caught in an English river in April, 1789, 
which was four feet long, three feet around the 
body, and weighed seventy pounds. There is a 
story told of a Highlander who hooked a salmon 

an ax, but when I visited the valley of the Puyal- 
lup River, in Washington Territory, three years 
ago, I was assured that salmon sometimes crowded 
that shallow stream so thickly that farmers lifted 
them out with pitchforks and used them as fertilizers 

in the River Awe, and played the fish for hours, 
until night came on without his being able to tire 
it out. Then, as the fish was sulking quietly at the 
bottom, he lay down, took the line in his teeth, 
that any motion might waken him, and went to 
sleep. The Highlander slept and the salmon 
sulked until three o'clock in the morning, when 
some friends of the former came to look for him. 
With their help he managed to land the fish about 
daybreak, and it weighed seventy-three pounds. 
That was certainly a giant, but a salmon weighing 
eighty-three pounds is reported once to have been 
sent to the London market. It would be a serious 
matter for any of St. Nicholas's readers to make 
fast to a salmon as large as that. But it will not 
happen on this side of the ocean. 

There is only one way in which a true sports- 
man will catch a salmon, and that is by fly-fishing. 
But there are a great many other ways, some of 
which, although unfair, are rather curious. Salmon 
have been caught with an ax, with a pitchfork, 
with a wheel, with many forms of nets and spears, 
by trolling, and by still-bait fishing. Captain 
Charles Kendall, an old Boston sailor, used to say- 
that he once explored a Canadian salmon river 
nearly to its head and met a multitude of salmon 
coming down in water so shallow that their backs 
were exposed, and he killed scores with an ax, as 
they tried to rush between his legs. The poor 
fishes were also attacked by birds of prey. This is 
the only instance recorded of killing salmon with 


on the field. These, however, were an inferior 
kind of salmon. One of the most cruel and de- 
structive methods of catching salmon was by water- 
wheels, at the cascades of the Columbia River. In 
former times, the Indians gathered at the cascades 
at certain seasons, picketed their ponies, built wig- 
wams, and remained for days, and often weeks, 
spearing and netting the ascending salmon all 
along the shores. But white men found a way of 
destroying a far larger number of these noble fish. 
Salmon when coming up the rapids swim near 
shore. Wheels were built, and suspended partly 
in the water so that the paddles were rapidly turned 
by the swift current. The salmon swimming 
against these paddles were struck with great force, 
lifted clear of the water, and thrown into tanks ar- 
ranged near by. The murderous wheels kept on 
revolving, throwing up every fish within reach, 
and there was nothing for the owners to do but to 
gather the quantities of salmon out of the tanks 
and use them in their salmon-canning establish- 
ment. It is not strange that a strong popular feel- 
ing soon grew up against this wholesale slaughter. 
At the mouth of the same river, the Columbia, 
net-fishing for salmon is carried on in a larger way 
than anywhere else on this continent. In the 
fisheries and canneries nearly seven thousand men 
are employed — Swedes, Russians, Norwegians, 
Finns, Italians, Portuguese, Greeks, and Chinamen, 
a curious mingling of races. Much of this net-fish- 
ing is done at night, the sail boats starting from 




Astoria toward evening and returning in the morn- 
ing. Sometimes the capsized boats drift ashore 
alone, for the breakers where the currents of river 
and ocean meet frequently swamp them, and each 
season many men are drowned. Between three 
and four million dollars' worth of salmon have been 
sent from the Columbia in a year. In the North- 
east a great many salmon are caught in nets at the 
mouths of the St. Lawrence and other Canadian 
rivers, many more indeed than anglers would allow 
if they could control the net-fishing. Most of 

Nearly all these rivers are watched by two sets of 
wardens. There are the Government wardens ap- 
pointed to prevent illegal fishing with nets or 
spears, or out of season, and there are wardens 
employed by private persons to watch the water 
which they lease ; for every pool in a salmon 
river is valuable property. Once the Government 
claimed the fishing privileges, but it was decided 
that the owners of lands along the rivers controlled 
the water; and now the farmer's income from his 
water is sometimes larger than that from his land; 
these salmon are artificially frozen and sent to our and the limits of each ownership are as carefully 

Eastern markets, where they now have to compete 
with Oregon salmon. Spearing salmon is very prop- 
erly forbidden by law in Canada. I have read an 
account of an odd method of harpooning salmon, 
which was practiced on a river in the Inverness 
district in Scotland. At one spot the river falls 
in a cascade through a narrow cleft in the rocks. 
Sitting beside this, the fisherman, who had a line 
attached to his spear, struck a salmon as it tried 
to leap up, let go his spear, keeping hold of the 
line, and then, climbing down to the pool below, 
drew in the exhausted fish at his leisure. This 
reminded me of an Indian on the Restigouche, 
who, I was told, used to throw his short spruce 
pole into the water after hooking a salmon, and 
paddle after it in his canoe, until the fish was so 
wearied by dragging the pole about, that the fish- 
erman could easily land it. Still more curious is 
Sir Walter Scott's account in his novel, " Red 
Gauntlet," of salmon-spearing on the Solway 
Frith, an arm of the sea between England and 
Scotland. He describes a company of horsemen 
riding over the sands and striking with their spears 
at the salmon which darted about in the pools, 
where they had been left by the ebbing tide. This 
kind of salmon- 

marked off as are limits of farms or of town lots. 
The unlawful act which the wardens most care- 
fully guard against is "drifting." One or two 
poachers will steal out at night carrying a peculi- 
arly made net in their canoes. They stretch this 
across the head of a pool ; and it is so weighted 
and buoyed that it stands upright, reaching nearly 
to the bottom. As the current causes the net 
to drift down stream, one canoe stays at each 
end to keep it straight. There is usually a white 
rope at the bottom of the net. Seeing this, the sal- 
mon raise themselves a little, only to be caught by 
the gills in the meshes. When the shaking of the 
net shows that one is caught, the poacher quickly 
paddles to the spot, raises the net, kills the fish 
with a blow on its head, and throws it into the 
canoe. In this sneaking way, nearly all the salmon 
in a pool may be netted out in a night. If the 
wardens happen to come along in their dug-outs, 
they try to seize the net and identify the poachers. 
Then there may be a fight, and perhaps a canoe 
will be sunk, and a poacher or a warden will get a 
cold bath. On one river, the poachers used to 
station a boy on an island below them, with a horn 
which he blew whenever the wardens approached. 

One of the latter 

fishing on horse- 
back must have 
been very like 
"pig-sticking" in 

On this side of 
the ocean, trolling 
for salmon is un- 
known : there is 
very little, if any, 
bait-fishing, and 
a salmon-spear, in 
the North-east at 
least, is only to 
be found in the 
hands of a red or 

white poacher. Poaching on Canadian rivers has horse, and two poachers in a canoe held the outer 
diminished, but the law is still broken on the sly ; end of the net. Down came the warden, poling 
and many odd stories are told of poachers' tricks, along in his dug-out, and pulled the end of the 


was so active that 
the poachers re- 
solved to punish 
him. They took 
an old worthless 
net and stretched 
it out into the river 
from a rock on the 
bank. A rope was 
rove through the 
net and the shore 
end made fast 
over a pulley to 
the traces of a 
horse. A boy 
stood beside the 



net away from the seemingly unwilling poachers. 
He began taking it into his dug-out, congratu- 
lating himself on his prize, and had hauled it half- 
way in, when the boy on shore struck the horse, 
which started on a full gallop up the bank, jerking 
the net after it. In a flash the net was pulled 
out of the dug-out, the latter upset, and the aston- 
ished warden pitched into the river. But I hope 
the poachers were punished in their turn. For if 
these lawless men had their way, there would be 
no salmon left in the rivers, and no such glorious 
sport as fly-fishing. 

It is for this that hundreds of Americans go 
away down East every summer. At the junction 
of the Metapedia and Restigouche rivers are the 
comfortable buildings of the Restigouche Salmon 


Club, which is composed of New York gentlemen. 
In front of the club-house is the finest pool on the 
river, and the club owns land and water for some 
miles above. Below, several pools are leased by 
a small American club, and Americans pay thou- 
sands of dollars for fishing privileges on rivers all 
the way from Nova Scotia to Labrador. Some of 
my boy readers may have accompanied their fathers 
or big brothers to Canadian salmon rivers, and 
themselves landed salmon. If not, I hope they 
may do so soon. 

For this fishing, a boy should use a rod not over 
sixteen feet long, and weighing about twenty-seven 
ounces. Split bamboo is the finest material, but 
satisfactory rods are made of ash and lancewood or 
greenheart. The heavy reel holds a hundred or a 
hundred and fifty yards of braided silk line. Usu- 
ally a gut leader, also called a casting-line, which 
is about nine feet long, is fastened directly to the 
silk line. Only one of the large gaudy salmon flies is 
used on the leader at one time. Suppose yourself 
thus equipped, sitting in the middle of a cranky 
birch-bark canoe, on the Restigouche, with an In- 
dian at the bow and another at the stern, paddling 
to the head of a salmon pool, as the morning mists 
rise from the mountains. Just below the rapids, the 
Indians turn the canoe into midstream and drop 
the anchor, which clinks musically upon the stones 
of the bottom. You take up the rod, which will 




seem awkward if you have been using a seven or 
eight ounce trout-rod, and holding it in both hands, 
one above and one below the reel, begin to make 
short casts in front and on either side. It is always 
well to whip the water near the canoe, for there is 
no telling where a salmon may be. Once I looked 
down over the side of my canoe into the very eyes 
of a large salmon. He lay at the bottom, looking 
up at me for. a moment, then flirted his tail scorn- 
fully and disappeared. I should like to have seen 
more of him. You will lengthen out the line a 
few feet at a time, as you continue casting, and 
you will always keep the point of your rod moving 
a little up and down, so that your fly shall be 
in motion in the water. Possibly the longed-for 
salmon will jump out of water at the fly. If so, 
he will probably miss it. More likely, you will sud- 
denly see a mighty swirl in the water, catch a 
glimpse of a head, perhaps, and feel a tug — at 
least you are likely to, if you "strike" when you 
see the swirl. 

Then all in the same instant the reel begins 
to scream and your heart to beat like a trip- 
hammer. Up comes the anchor, the Indians 
paddle over to one side of the river, and you 
manfully keep the rod pointing upward, clutch- 
ing it with your left hand above the reel, the 
end of the butt pressed against your waistcoat 
buttons, and your right hand ready to reel in 
line if the fish comes toward you or sulks at the 

All at once something happens which takes 
away your breath. Right before your eyes the 
great fish leaps four feet from the water, his writh- 
ing body curved like a silver bow, and glistening 
in the sunlight until he falls back with a splash that 
almost makes your heart stop beating, for fear he has 
broken loose. But no ! You instinctively lowered 
the tip of your rod when he jumped, and he did 
not fall upon a taut line, as he hoped, and break 

away. The reel screams again as the salmon darts 
off down river ; and as the canoe-men paddle after, 
you think of the Indian who lassoed the locomo- 
tive. Perhaps he will rush through the lower 
rapids into the pool below. Never fear ! He is 
well hooked, and the strain of the rod is telling. 
Backward and forward he darts, while the line cuts 
the water, now sulking quietly, again startling you 
by a wild leap. At last he begins to yield. The 
canoe-men paddle you to a beach where you cau- 
tiously step out, keeping your face to the foe. 
Slowly, carefully you reel in line, straining the fish 
toward you. The Indians wait with the gaff, a 
large steel hook in the end of a stout pole. Now 
the salmon makes a despairing run, then, growing 
weaker, he obeys your strain. You can see him 
plainly as he comes into shallow water. What if 
you should lose him now ! The Indians, bent dou- 
ble, ankle-deep in water, watch his every motion. 
One strikes at him, but misses, and the gallant fish 
makes another fight for life. But now he is within 
reach. The gaff is raised carefully, you hold your 
breath, and this time the steel pierces that silvery 
side, and out of the foaming water the gaff draws a 
noble salmon, your first — and let me hope a forty- 
pounder. Perhaps twenty minutes have passed 
since you hooked him, — perhaps an hour; but you 
have lived an age. 

May all the boy readers of St. NICHOLAS some 
time know such thrilling sport as this ! And the 
girls, too, may emulate their brothers, and each 
some time land a salmon. At least they can have 
the sport without holding the rod. One of the pret- 
tiest sights which I saw on the Restigouche was 
the eager face of a little girl in a canoe, with her 
father, who was fighting a twenty-five-pound 
salmon. Looking at her parted lips and wide- 
open eyes, I felt sure that girls as well as boys 
could feel the fascination of that most exciting of 
all forms of angling, salmon-fishing. 




(A Notisense Rhyme.) 

By Laura E. Richards. 

\- The brown owl sat on the car- 
away tree, 
A ruffed-up, great big owl. 
Who so learned and wise as he ? 
A puffed-up, eminent fowl. 
The black bat hung by a twig 
of the tree, 
A blinking, blind old bat. 
And buzzing anear was 
the bumble-bee, 
Crinkling, yellow, and fat. 

'■' "Ho ! "said the owl, " but 
8, ', the sun is so bright, 
■ So torrid, blazing away ! " 
I V " Oh," said the bat, "for 

the shades of night, 
| ! This horrid dazzling day ! " 
/ " Psho ! " said the bee. 
"If that is all, 
/';•' Blundery, blind old bat, 

Yonder 's a cloud coming up 
i~ at your call, — 
-'^g2^7j Thundery, — black as a hat." 
-^~ K '/< 

'""' " Ah ! " cried the bat and the 

owl together, 
" Tumbling great black Cloud, 
Bring us some fine dark thundery weather, 
Rumbling fierce and loud ! " 

Up came the cloud, flying far and wide, 

Wizardly weird and strong, — 
Brisk little hurricane sitting inside, 

Blizzardlv bowling along. 

Off went the owl like a thistle-down puff, 

Ruffled-up, rolled in a ball ! 
Off went the bat like a candle-snuff, 

Shuffled-up, toes and all ! 
Off went the twig and off went the tree, 

Scurrying down to the ground ! 
Nothing was left, save the bumble-bee, 

Worrying thus to be found ; 
Yet snug as a bug in the roots of the tree, 
Where he grumbled ; " What a catastrophe ! 
I was simply thunder-struck ! " said he. 
And I 'm very sure I prefer the glare 
Of the hottest day to that whirling air ! 
Such a draught ! I hope I have not caught cold ! 
But I know I was over and over rolled. 

Am I really safe and sound ? " 

74 8 



#:o!ho.'quolfi-a : ]o!!yo1d'kni9ht, 

J ror-lhe\f : knou>.a!l the ■ u'hi (e 
f He.- Is • sadly- addicted To — 


By A. R. Wells. 

King Hubert, he went to the forest in state, 
In glitter and gold, on a sun-shiny day, 
And commanded his train in the shadow to wait. 
While a herald proclaimed in the following way: 

" His Imperial Majesty, Hubert the Second, 
Since the nightingale's voice is quite musical reckoned, 
Is graciously pleased, as the day seems too long, 
To command that the nightingale sing him a song ! " 

The court all stood waiting for what might befall ; 
But somehow, no nightingale answered tVie call. 



By Rose Lattimore Alling. 

Chapter III. 

FOR two days following that bright morning in 
September, the skies dropped discouragement on 
all enthusiasms, and dampened any ardor for ag- 
gressive change. What feminine heart has the 
courage to go forth gloriously to conquer or to 
die — in overshoes and a gossamer ? 

In the meantime, the girls had not met again, 
but new thoughts sprouted in their brains, while 
feeble plans budded and dropped unfruitful from 
the bough. 

Nan lighted a fire in the grate in her room, and 
re-read and burned package upon package of old 
letters, tossing away with special vigor all those 
tied with that badge of sentimental girlhood — a 
blue ribbon. Why always blue ? 

" There ! " she exclaimed, as the last mouse- 
colored fragment fluttered up the chimney; "there 
is nothing like beginning again at the foundation, 
in every way." 

This heroic sacrifice completed, she sewed on 
some loose shoe-buttons with as much vigor as 
though she contemplated setting out on foot to 
seek her fortune. After that, she pressed her fore- 
head against the window-pane, and wished drearily 
that it would stop raining. 

Evelyn, after an hour's interview with her 
mother, began to rip up an old dress, though she 
was evidently busied also with serious thoughts. 

Cathy, left to herself, and without the stimulat- 
ing influence of her friends, decided with placid 
regret that there was no way to improve her ex- 
istence; she felt like the man who tried to lift him- 
self over the fence by pulling at his boot-straps. 

Bert shut herself up and wrestled with a long 
column of very symmetrical figures. The result 
of the addition seemed to dismay her. She 
clutched her bang with one hand, while she care- 
fully went over the list again. 

Bert had lain awake hours and hours the night 
before, rehearsing the various parts she might 
assume as a lady-like peddler of different wares to 
a paying public ; but she surveyed her small pack 
of accomplishments with the sad conviction that 
she "'had n't a faculty that anybody would give two 
cents for." " If some one would kindly hire me to 
read all the new novels, or should desire my serv- 
ices as assistant hostess at endless dinners and 
luncheons, I think I might command quite a 
salary," sighed she, knowing well her own self- 

poise and general success in those unremunerative 

"Or, there is my other little stock-in-trade," she 
continued with disconsolate amusement — "writ- 
ing letters ! I do think I can write a letter." 

And she could, because she always wrote with 
the keen mental enjoyment of exercising her own 
fluent powers of expression. " But," she reflected, 
"who is going to pay my dress-maker for the intense 
pleasure of being allowed to receive my epistles ? 
No, letter-writing has n't any market value — But 
— but has n't it ?" 

Ah, now she was really thinking ! For she sat 
motionless, with raised eyebrows and parted lips ; 
then she started to her feet, walked excitedly up and 
down her room a few times, surveyed herself in the 
glass, and laughed and chuckled in a mysterious 
way as she put on her overshoes and hoisted her 

Mr. Mitchell was a very busy man — too busy to 
know his daughter very well ; and, as is far too 
common with busy men, he regarded a girl as an 
entirely useless, rather expensive but withal pleas- 
ant factor of his establishment. So, as may be 
imagined, he was somewhat surprised as he sat 
in his private office on that particular drizzly day, 
hurriedly writing a business letter, when Bert, 
bright and emphatic, suddenly appeared. 

Her father, without stopping his rapid pen, 
looked up, between sentences, long enough to say 
with good-natured bewilderment, " Why, Bert, 
what has brought you here ? Do you need some 
more money ? " 

Bert flushed at that question. Some thoughts 
with which she had been exercising her mind had 
made it a trifle sore ; and in the mood occa- 
sioned by those thoughts, her father's evident 
surprise at her appearance, his slight emphasis on 
"here," and his seemingly natural conclusion as 
to the cause of the phenomenon, rather hurt her 

"Money?" she said, with some heat, "No, sir ! 
Do you regard me as only a creature with an all- 
devouring greed for gold ? " 

Then, laughing pleasantly as she deposited her 
umbrella in the rack, she added, " No, Papa 
dear, r\ot just now. I thought you would be going 
home soon and I 'd like to walk up with you." 

Mr. Mitchell paused a moment, in the act of 
clapping on another stamp, to survey his tall 
daughter through his eve-sjlasses. 




" Eh ' That 's good. I can't go for half an hour 
though — six or seven more letters to write." 

He said this a little wearily, and proceeded to 
date another sheet of paper, running his left hand 
through his thin hair, as though he had already 
forgotten his daughter's presence in the absorbing 
nature of his relations with " Messrs. Hutton, 
Wells & Co." 

Bert sat clown in an office chair and looked 
about her. Not that she had never been in 
her father's office before, but never before had 

eye the effect of a rug on the floor, looked up and 
remarked, " What a lot of letters ! " 

" Yes," answered her father with a sigh, " since 
Nelson went I have had my hands full. It is hard 
to fill his place." 

" Why? " asked Bert, with interest. 

" Because," said Mr. Mitchell slowly, " good 
stenographers do not grow on every bush ; and it 
is difficult to find any one to whom I can intrust 
my private correspondence." 

He took his coat from the hook and slowly put 


she looked at it with the same mental vision 
that now surveyed the dingy windows, dusty 
writing-desk, and generally unkempt and dismal 
aspect of the place where her father spent so much 
of his life. 

" Dear me," she thought, " how soon 1 could 
brighten up things ! I wonder if he would like it 
if I should try ? " 

Presently Mr. Mitchell collected a heap of letters. 
shut up his inkstand, and wheeled his chair slowly 
about, as he carefully counted them over. 

Bert, who had been contemplating in her mind's 

it on his shoulders, while Bert sat still, looking 
very lugubrious. 

" Oh," she said slowly, " would your amanuen- 
sis have to know short-hand ? " 

"Of course," her father replied, looking some- 
what surprised at the unusual interest in such 
affairs exhibited by his brilliant daughter, of whom 
he had perhaps been rather more proud than fond. 

'' You sec," he continued, " 1 might as well 
write them myself as wait for him to write out my 
dictation in long hand." 

Mr. Mitchell stepped into the general office to 



give a direction to one of the many clerks, all 
of whom were getting their hats with great prompt- 
ness as the minute-hand neared six. 

Bert sat looking thoughtfully at a fantastic cob- 
web in the corner. 

When her father returned and asked her if she 
were ready to start, she still did not offer to stir ; 
but, planting her umbrella firmly on the floor, she 
said in a very serious voice, but with a gleam in her 
eyes : 

" Sir, I called strictly on business. Hearing 
that your confidential clerk had gone South be- 
cause of weak lungs, I came to apply — pray 
take a seat, sir; you seem about to faint — to 
apply for the place." 

Mr. Mitchell sat down. 

" To be frank, sir, I must own that I am not 
thorougldy conversant with short-hand, but I 
should immediately go to work to perfect my knowl- 
edge, and in the meantime I should endeavor to 
be of valuable assistance to you." 

By this time, the senior member of the firm 
looked so helplessly confused that Bert began to 
laugh, breaking down utterly in her commercial 
tone of voice. Then she added in a rush of words, 
as she made a dash at her father and clasped her 
hands behind his neck: " Oh, do let me, Papa ! 
— I 'd be very confidential, and I 'm just wild to 
earn some money ! " 

At this last remark, the astounded man probably 
would have gasped, had not his daughter prevented 
such an expression by a kiss. 

" You poor dazed man ! " she laughed. " Now 
please sit down, and it will take me just two min- 
utes to explain my strange conduct ; you will ac- 
cept me as your helper in one second more ; and 
then I shall commit my first act of indiscretion 
as your clerk, by walking home arm-in-arm with 
my employer." 

By this time Mr. Mitchell had risen equal to the 
joke, as he still considered the entire comedy, and 
demanded references as to her epistolary ability. 
Bert at once deafened him with an avalanche of 
names ; but she immediately grew serious again, 
and began to explain frankly her new thoughts and 

Of course she was met by the usual discour- 
agements with which the masculine mind teems, 
but she silenced them all by an earnest request for 
the privilege of a trial, like any other applicant for 
a clerkship. 

At last, after much talking and earnest argu- 
ments, it was finally settled as they walked home 
under one umbrella, with a strange new sense of 
comradeship, that Bert should present herself at 
her father's office next morning in time for the 
opening of the mail. 

Chapter IV. 

" ' So let the wide world wag as it will, 
I 11 be gay and happy still, 
Gay and happy, 
Gay and hap 

" No doubt of it, Nan ! " called licit from 
the foot of the Ferrises' stairs, early next morn- 

Nan suddenly ceased expressing her intentions 
in song, and appeared leaning over the balustrade, 
with a blue veil tied over her head, waving a dust- 
cloth. When she saw that it was Bert, who had 
interrupted her strain of melody, she proceeded to 
finish the verse, ignoring the break, and singing : 

" ' — py. 

I '!1 be gay and happy stili ! ' " 

Then she cried: "Why, Bert! what brought 
you over at such an unearthly hour in the morn- 
ing ? " But, without waiting for an explanation of 
so startling an event, she went on, " Oh, come up- 
stairs — I 've changed my room all about, and it is 
very much prettier." 

Bert looked fresh and alert as she took out her 
watch and said laughing : 

" I can't, thank you; have n't time; besides, I 
'm afraid my enthusiasm would n't come up to your 
expectations, as I think I 've missed one or two of 
your Friday revolutions, and probably all your 
things are back again where I last saw them." 

"Oh, no!" Nan retorted; "this combination 
has never before been offered to an American 
public ! " 

"What! Have you turned your mirror to the 
wall and your bed up-side-down ? " 

"Bert, you 're saucy !" cried Nan. " But why 
are you in such a hurry ? " 

"Because," Bert began sententiously, " a busi- 
ness woman can't waste mornings at this rate. My 
oysters and salad are earned by the labor of my 
hands, and depend upon a faithful discharge of 
my duties. Good-morning, idle worms ! I am off; 
my employer will be expecting me," and the lofty 
confidential clerk stalked tragically toward the 

" Vour what?" cried Nan, while Evelyn flew 
out of her room and demanded, "What under the 
sun are you talking about, Bert?" 

Bert was now leaning against the newel-post in 
a paroxysm of laughter. 

" Girls," she said with great impressiveness, 
"I mean exactly what I say — I 'm ahead of 
you all ! Aha, my precious Nan ! I am due this 
morning at the office of ' N. F. Mitchell & Com- 
pany, wholesale and retail seed house.' in the 
capacity of private secretary ! " 




"Oh, Bert," commented Evelyn with sympa- 
thetic pride in her friend. " Oh, you dear, brave 
Bert ! " 

Nan was silent for a moment, but her shining 
eyes were eloquent with surprise and delight ; 
finally she said slowly, with returning incredulity : 

" No, Bert — you don't really mean it — you are 

"Jesting! Please come and see me 
perched on a stool six feet high, with an 
inky streak across my nose, and my fin- 
gers a sight to behold ! Well," glancing 
again with a business-like air at her watch, 
" call at the office, since you have nothing 
else to do, and look in, but don't dare to 
speak to me. Good-bye ! " she said as 
she opened the door ; " good-bye ! " she 
shouted from the front steps, and "good- 
bye ! " again at the gate ; while Nan 
and Evelyn gazed after her and then 
at each other. 

"'I 'm struck spachless,' as the 
Irishman said," murmured Nan, sink 
ing upon the top step. 

'• I think it 's grand news," 
asserted Evelyn, with a deep sigh 
of gratification ; "let 's hurry up 
with our work, and go to Cathy's 
this afternoon ! Wont she be 
astonished ! " 

And away they sped to their 
own rooms and their own plans. 

Not that these two sisters led 
lives apart, for they were the best ?£ '■'.' ■ - ]ff" 

of friends, and had already dis- til', ' •'. :■} *y .. 
cussed their respective hopes and j ■ ■',■• ill \ '■'■ 

fears. The fears were usually ■ ■;,'■, 'j'5 ,•',-'< 

monopolized by Evelyn, who was of 
a timid, self-distrustful nature and 
hesitated to attempt many things 
where Nan rushed boldly in. But 
if she was not made to lead, she was well 
adapted to follow, if only she were en- 
couraged by a more dauntless spirit. Nan 
was such a spirit ; yet Evelyn, in her quiet 
way, often held her impulsive sister to a 
purpose when the dull reaction from high enthu- 
siasms set in with Nan. 

And so it came about that when Nan flattened 
her nose against the window-pane on that rainy 
day, she also flattened her spirits by a deliberate 
survey of her available accomplishments ; and 
when, half an hour later, Evelyn came in, it was 
to find her younger sister, the stalwart ex-champion 
of independence and fun, with a shiny nose and 
moist-looking eyes ! 

" Why, my dear Nannie," said Evelyn, tenderly, 

hastening to her sister's side and putting her arms 
about her, "what troubles you?" 

This sympathy caused a fresh sniffle, to be 
duly smothered in the damp handkerchief, while 
the meek sufferer moaned, "Oh, I 'm mad!" 

Evelyn smiled, for she knew that when Nan 
thought how ' ' mad " she was, she would stop crying. 


" Yes," she 
resumed bro- 
kenly, though 
her voice 
gained strength 
as she went on, 
" I am about as 
disgusted and 
angry as I can 

" For what 
reason?" asked 
her sister. 
" Because," replied Nan, with a catch in her 
breath, "because I 'm not a man — if you must 
know ! Here only yesterday I had enough cour- 
age and determination to start two boys in a good 
lucrative business, and now to-day I face the fact 




that nobody has expected me to do or to be any- 
thing in particular, and that all my expensive edu- 
cation has n't provided me with a single weapon 
to fight my way with, if I had to fight. Why, even 
if I were reduced to begging," she added, with a 
sniff, " I should n't know enough to warm over 
the cold pieces I received ! Don't you think it is 
just too bad to be a girl ? " 

"I used to think so," Evelyn answered slowly, 
turning her head away to arrange the draping of a 
curtain. But in a moment she resumed her el- 
derly-sister fashion of speech — she was three 
years Nan's senior — "No, Nannie, if you really 
wish to be brave and self-reliant, you have full 
opportunity to be so, as you arc." 

"But what can I do?" broke in Nan, stormily : 
"boys always have some occupation ready and 
waiting for them." 

"Oh, no, they haven't!" answered Evelyn. 
"Just think how many college students we have 
known who have n't decided on a profession until 
their senior year. They study the various branches 
and callings until they find in which line they have 
the most ability." 

"Oh, dear! there it is again!" sighed Nan 
hopelessly " they always do develop a taste for 
something, and then everything is all right. But I 
don't long to do anything except to be miserable 
about it," she again sighed. " But, to return to 
the point at issue, my dear sister, will you have 
the kindness to mention what I do well ? " 

"You are capable in many ways and at many 
tasks ; whatever you do succeeds." 

" What ? " wildly demanded Nan. 

" Why, your hats are more Parisian than Paris ; 
you draw well, paint well, and you are certainly 
very ingenious. Look at this room ! " 

They both looked and saw a very quaint and 
dainty room, made pretty, moreover, not by money, 
but by taste and skill. Even the owner's troubled 
countenance relaxed as she contemplated the effect 
of some yellow cushions she had recently added to 
an old chair that she had reclaimed from the shades 
of the attic, and had thus adorned. 

"Yes," she assented reluctantly, "my room is 
rather satisfactory ; but who is going to pay me 
for making oriental divans out of old piano-boxes, 
I 'd like to know ? " 

As Evelyn did n't immediately order one, Nan 
went on, dejectedly dropping her chin into her palm. 
" But I should like to be artistic — even for monev's 
sake, you know. I want to have a studio, with queer 
bits of drapery that you don't have to mend or hem. 
I 'd like to be a decorative artist, and go into people's 
houses and sweep out all the hideous steamboat 
furniture one sees. And I wish to know artists, 
and to have them come to my studio and eat sar- 

dines and crackers, and play Spanish airs on a banjo 
while I paint things to astonish the world. No, on 
second thought, I 'd rather design, and if I could 
play the banjo myself while I thought up new ideas 

— would n't that be lovely ! " she shouted gleefully. 
She was quite cheerful now, with her little 

imaginary exploits. 

"Then an artist is what you are fitted to be, 
Nan, dear," announced her sister with conviction ; 
" for what any one wishes to be, that he may be." 

Nan received this scrap of philosophy with ashrug. 

"Yes, if he is a long-headed old fellow and 
wishes within his limits ! " she said. 

"But I think some sort of artistic achievement 
is within your limits," urged Evelyn. 

Nan bestowed a grateful look at her sister, but 
immediately voiced another objection: "Where 
am I going to begin ? People are always talking 
about the ' avenues now freely opened to our eman- 
cipated sisters,' but no one ever tells a poor girl 
exactly how to begin — what to do first. Men have 
chances and opportunities." 

" Yes," Evelyn quickly rejoined; " and do you 
know how they happen to fill them ? By being 
equal to their demands. If I were you, I should go 
to work and perfect some incomplete accomplish- 
ment. But I hear Mother calling. Come, cheer 
up, sister mine ! ' We miss the good we oft might 
win, by fearing to attempt,' you know." 

This saying was a truth that had often been 
urged by Nan upon Evelyn's own attention during 
seasons of self-abasement ; so there was a touch of 
sarcasm in the elder sister's smile, as she glanced 
back from the door. 

By that time, however, Nan's nose was assuming 
its natural hue, and life began to look more hope- 
ful, for she had a strong spirit that liked to con- 
quer obstacles. 

" Yes, Nan Ferris," she thought, " it is about as 
that wise old Evelyn says : you have as good a 
chance as anybody without respect to sex, and you 
shall be something worthy of existence ! You shall 
do some one thing so w-ell that somebody will be 
frantic to pay you a fabulous price for it. And 
what will you do with this wealth ?" she went on, 
addressing herself. "Are you so base that you 
yearn for filthy lucre for its own sake ? No, Nan 
Ferris, you are not. First you will pay your own 
little bills, and lighten your father's cares instead of 
his pocket ; and then, may be, you can go on lovely 
little sketching tours in the summer ; and, perhaps 

— oh. Nan ! — perhaps, if you are a great success, 
you can go to Europe some time and study art ! " 

This climax of prospective bliss was so top-heavy 
that the whole delightful pile came crashing down, 
laying bare to this architect of her own fortunes 
the uncertain foundation on which she had built. 

Vol. XIII.— 48. 

(To be contitiued.) 




By Frederick J. Hibbert. 




IS .,- -> :'.:, , ' : - r :mm 

Vf * 



■ SiMMi 
















IX.— "you should have seen him RUN*! ha, ha!" 

aCW\Vi^ i- HLJJ r- 

X. — "you notice that we are not insulted ANY MOKE.' 


X; '<£•- 









By Sydney Dayre. 

We have been playing bopeep to-day, 
Out on the sand-dunes along the bay. 
Who was our playmate, do you think? 
You could n't guess who gave us a wink 
And hid his face in the funniest place, — 
Behind a bit of a soft white cloud ! 
And Polly and I we laughed aloud 
To see how the sun enjoyed the fun. 
And then he gave us another peep 
Before we could hide in the sedges deep. 

Many a little cloud went by. 
Floating up in the blue, blue sky — 
Oh, it was jolly for me and Polly 
To watch the sun look slyly out 
To see what we were laughing about ! 
We kept as quiet as mice, we two, 
While he was sailing along the blue, 
Till he hid behind a patch of white, 
And then we hurried with all our might 
To hide again for a little while, 
Before he came with his beaming smile 
And seemed to try whether Polly and I 
Or he could beat, as he went to find 
Another white cloud to hide behind. 

At last he was tired, and hid his head 
In clouds of purple and gold and red ; 
And we were tired, so in we came 
To tell what a merry, lively game 
We had in the meadow — just we three 
The good old sun with Polly and me. 

9 fVu mm' 




l N A R .M Y 


Bv A. C. 

An army of childien encamped by the sea ! 

What a muster of warriors 't is getting to be ! 
They are coming in clans, with their mothers and maids ; 
They come in battalions, with buckets and spades ; 
They are coming to make a descent on our coast, — 
They will alter the shape of it, sure ! — such a host ! 

Intrenching and digging from morning till night! 

What foe would dare scale such redoubts in a fight ? 

Could any invader such parapets take 

As these forts that the sturdy young champions make ? 
See them shoulder their shovels and march to the fray — 
See them merrily join the long battle array ! 
Here 's a wave ! On their works it begins its attacks ! 
Oh ! Alas ! — Our brave soldiers are turning their backs ! 

Ah, they rally, — they charge ! No more flight, nor affright ! 

They recapture the forts, and they '11 fight until night ! 

mm ■& 


— (A sk this little girl. ) 





[An Historical Biography.] 

By Horace E. Scudder. 

Chapter XX. 


The battle of Monmouth was the last great 
battle before the final victory at Yorktown. The 
three and a half vears which intervened, however, 

compared to the mechanism of a clock, and that 
we should derive a lesson from it ; for it answers 
no good purpose to keep the smaller wheels in 
order, if the greater one, which is the support and 
prime mover of the whole, is neglected." 

He was indignant at the manner in which Con- 
gressmen, and others who were concerned in the 
affairs of the country, spent their time in Phila- 
delphia. " An assembly," he said, " a concert, a 
dinner, a supper, that will cost three or four hun- 
dred pounds, will not only take off men from act- 
in this business, but even from thinking of it: 


were busy years for Washington. He was obliged 
to settle disputes between the French and Amer- 
ican officers, to order the disposition of the forces, 
and to give his attention to all the suggestions of 
plans for action. He was greatly concerned that 
Congress should be growing weak and ineffi- 
cient. Here was a man, whom some had foolishly 
supposed to lie aiming at supreme power, only 
anxious that the civil government should be 
strengthened. He saw very clearly that while the 
separate States were looking after their several 
affairs, the Congress which represented the whole 
country was losing its influence and power. " I 
think our political system," he wrote, "may be 

while a great part of the officers of our army, from 
absolute necessity, are quitting the service ; and 
the more virtuous few, rather than do this, are 
sinking by sure degrees into beggary and want." 
How simply he himself lived may be seen by the 
jocose letter which he wrote to a friend, inviting him 
to dine with him at headquarters. The letter is 
addressed to Dr. Cochran, Surgeon-General in the 
army : 

''Dear Doctor: I have asked Mrs. Cochran and Mrs. Living- 
ston to dine with me to-morrow : but am I not in honor hound to 
apprize them of their fare? As I hate deception, even where the 
imagination only is concerned, I will. It is needless to premise 
that my table is large enough to hold the ladies. Of this they had 
ocular proof yesterday. To say how it is usually covered, is rather 
more essential ; and this shall be the purport of my letter. 

" Since our arrival at this happy spot, we have had a ham, some- 
times a shoulder of bacon, to grace the head of the table : a piece 
of roast beef adorns the foot; and a dish of beans or greens, almost 
imperceptible, decorates the center. When the cook has a mind to 
cut a figure, which I presume will be the case to-morrow, we have 
two beefsleak pies, or dishes of crabs, dividing the space and reduc- 
ing the distance between dish and dish, to about six feet, which, 



without them, would be near twelve feet apart. Of late he has had 
the surprising sagacity to discover that apples will make pies ; and 
it is a question if, in the violence of his efforts, we do not get one 
of apples, instead of having both of beefsteaks. If the iadies can 
put up with such entertainment, and will submit to partake of it on 
plates once tin but now iron (not become so by the labor of scouring), 
1 shall be happy to see them ; and am, dear Doctor, yours." 

The main activity of the two armies in the last 
years of the war was in the South, where General 
Gates, and after him General Greene, were engaged 
in a contest with Lord Cornwallis. Washington, 
meanwhile, kept his position on the Hudson, where 
he could watch the movements of the enemy still 
in strong force in New York. The care of the whole 
country was on his shoulders, for, except by his per- 
sonal endeavors, it was impossible for the armies 
to secure even what support they did receive from 
Congress and the State governments. The letters 
written by Washington during this period disclose 
the numberless difficulties which he was obliged 
to meet and overcome. He was the one man to 
whom all turned, and he gave freely of himself. 
How completely he ignored his own personal inter- 
ests may be seen by an incident which occurred at 
Mount Vernon. 

Several British vessels had sailed up the Chesa- 
peake and Potomac, and had pillaged the country 
roundabout. When these vessels lay off Mount 
Vernon, the manager of Washington's estate, 
anxious to save the property under his charge, went 
out and bought off the marauders by a liberal gift. 
Washington wrote at once, rebuking him for his 
conduct. In the letter, he used these words : 

" I am very sorry to hear of your loss : I am a little sorry to hear 
of my own ; but that which gives me most concern is, that you 
should go on board the enemy's vessel and furnish them with re- 
freshments. It would have been a less painful circumstance to me 
to have heard that, in consequence of your non-compliance with 
their request, they had burnt my house and laid the plantation in 
ruins. You ought to have considered yourself as my representative, 
and should have reflected on the bad example of communicating 
with the enemy, and making a voluntary offer of refreshments to 
them with a view to prevent a conflagration. It was not in your 
power, I acknowledge, to prevent them from sending a flag on 
shore, and you did right to meet it; but you should, in the same 
instant that the business of it was unfolded, have declared explicitly 
that it was improperfor you to yield to their request; after which, if 
they had proceeded to help themselves by force, you could but have 
submitted ; and being unprovided for defense, this was to be pre- 
ferred to a feeble opposition, which only serves as a pretext to burn 
and destroy." 

In July, 1 78 1, Washington's army, which was 
watching Sir Henry Clinton in New York, was re- 
enforced by the French troops, and at the same 
time a French squadron cruised off the coast ready- 
to co-operate. General Greene was crowding 
Lord Cornwallis in the South and edging him up 
into Virginia, and the design was to keep the two 
British armies apart, and defeat each. But the 
siege of New York was likely to be a long one, and 
the French admiral had orders to repair to the 
West Indies in the fall. So time was precious. 

Accordingly, Washington determined to mass 
his troops in Virginia, unite the northern and 
southern armies, and, in conjunction with the French 
fleet, completely crush Cornwallis. It was neces- 
sary, however, that Clinton, in New York, should 
suspect nothing of this scheme, or else he, too, would 
join Cornwallis. The change of plan was carried out 
with great skill. Letters were written detailing 


imaginary movements, and these letters fell into 
the hands of the British general, who supposed 
that great preparations were making to attack him 
in New York. Meanwhile, a few troops only were 
left in camp at White Plains, while the rest of the 
army crossed the Hudson and moved rapidly to 
Virginia. It was not until the two armies were 
within reach of each other that Clinton learned 
what had really been going on. 

Washington took this opportunity to make a fly- 
ing visit to Mount Vernon. It was the first time he 
had been there since he left it to attend that meet- 
ing of the Continental Congress at which he had 
been chosen Commander-in-Chief. He had never 
lost sight of his home, however. Thither his 
thoughts often turned, and many a time, amid 
the anxieties and cares of his burdensome life, he 
looked with longing toward the quiet haven of 
Mount Vernon. He wrote weekly to the manager 
of his estate, and he gave him one general rule of 
conduct in this wise : " Let the hospitality of the 
house, with respect to the poor, be kept up. Let 
no one go away hungry. If any of this kind of 
people should be in want of corn, supply their 
necessities, provided it does not encourage them 
in idleness." 




He staid but a couple of days at Mount Vernon, 
where he was joined by Count Rochambeau, 
and then he hastened to the headquarters of the 
army at Williamsburg. It was now the middle of 
September. Cornwallis was at Yorktown, and 
everything depended on the ability of the com- 
bined French and American forces to capture his 
army before he could be re-enforced by Clinton. 
The leading generals of the American army were 
there eagerly directing operations, and Washing- 
ton was at the front superintending the works, for 
the men were fighting Cornwallis with the spade 
as well as with cannon. Washington put the match 
to the first gun that was fired. One who was in 
the army at the time relates an incident that came 
under his notice : 

"A considerable cannonading from the enemy ; 
one shot killed three men, and mortally wounded 
another. While the Rev. Mr. Evans, our chap- 


lain, was standing near the Commander-in-Chief, 
a shot struck the ground so near as to cover his 
hat with sand. Being much agitated, he took off 
his hat, and said, 'See here, General!' 'Mr. 
Evans,' replied his excellency, with his usual com- 
posure, ' you 'd better carry that home and show 
it to your wife and children.' " 

Indeed it seemed to many that Washington bore 
a charmed life, and it was often said that he was 
under the special protection of God. He was fear- 
less, and constantly exposed to danger, but his 

constant escapes made him cool and self-possessed, 
and the admiration of his men. He was excited 
by the events which were hurrying the war to the 
close, and he watched with intense earnestness the 
several assaults which were made on the works. 
Once he had dismounted and was standing by 
Generals Knox and Lincoln at the grand battery. 
It was not a safe place, for, though they were behind 
a fortification, it was quite possible for shot to enter 
the opening through which they were looking. One 
of his aids, growing nervous, begged him to leave, 
for the place was very much exposed. 

" If you think so," said Washington, "you are 
at liberty to step back." Presently a ball did strike 
the cannon, and, rolling off, fell at Washington's 
feet. General Knox seized him by the arm. 

"My dear General," said he, " we can't spare 
you yet." 

" It 's a spent ball," replied Washington, coolly. 
" No harm is done." He watched the action until 
the redoubts which his men had been assaulting 
were taken ; then he drew a long breath of relief 
and turned to Knox. 

"The work is done," he said emphatically; 
"and well done." 

The siege was short, the work was sharp, for it 
was full of enthusiasm and hope, and when, on 
October 19, the army of Lord Cornwallis sur- 
rendered to General Washington, there was a 
tumult of rejoicing in camp which was long re- 
membered. Washington issued orders that the 
army should give thanks to God. " Divine serv- 
ice," he said, " is to be performed to-morrow in 
the several brigades and divisions. The Com- 
mander-in-Chief earnestly recommends that the 
troops not on duty should universally attend, with 
that seriousness of deportment and gratitude of 
heart which the recognition of such reiterated and 
astonishing interpositions of Providence demand 
of us." 

The officers of the combined armies spent some 
time in the neighborhood, and there was a great 
ball given at Fredericksburg by the citizens of the 
place. The most distinguished guest was the 
mother of Washington, then seventy-four years 
old, who came into the room leaning on the arm 
of her son. She was quiet and dignified, as one 
after another of the French officers made his bow 
and his complimentary speech ; but I think there 
must have been a great deal of motherly pride in 
her heart, though it is said that when her George 
came to see her alone after the victory at York- 
town, she spoke to him of his health, marked the 
lines of care in his face, spoke of his early days, 
and gave him a mother's caution, but said nothing 
of the glory he had won. To the last he was her 
bov, and not America's hero. 




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£'* '- : 1?.'.--'- ■■' 


Chapter XXI. 


AFTER the surrender of Yorktown and the 
departure of the French, Washington established 
his headquarters at Newburgh on the Hudson. 
There he remained with the army until it was 
disbanded ; and the house in which he lived is 
carefully preserved and shown as an historical 

There is a pleasant story of La Fayette's affec- 
tionate remembrance of the life there. Just before 

his death, which occurred in 1834, he gave a din- 
ner party in Paris to the American Minister and 
some friends who had been old associates. Later 
in the evening, when it came time for supper, the 
guests were ushered into a room which was in 
strange contrast with the elegance of the apart- 
ments they had been in. The ceiling was low, 
with large beams crossing it ; there was a single 
small, uncurtained window, and several small 
doors. It looked more like an old-fashioned 
Dutch kitchen than a room in a French house. 
A long, rough table was meagerly set. A dish of 
meat stood on it, some uncouth-looking pastry, 




and wine in decanters and bottles, ready to be 
poured out into glasses and camp-mugs. 

"Do you know where we are now?" asked 
La Fayette as his companions looked about puz- 
zled, and as if in a dream. "Ah! the seven 
doors and one window ! and the silver camp-gob- 
lets! We are at Washington's headquarters on 
the Hudson, fifty years ago ! " He had repro- 
duced the room as a surprise to his friends. 

Peace did not come at once after Yorktown ; 
there was still fighting in a desultory way, but all 
knew that the end was not far off. Yet the sol- 
diers could not go back to their homes, and Con- 
gress was shamefully remiss about paying them. 
Murmurs deep and loud arose, and Washington 
suffered keenly from the neglect shown to the army. 
It required all his patience and tact to keep the mur- 
murs from breaking out into violent action. With 
no military duty to perform, and with the impa- 
tience of men who were suffering injustice, the 
officers and men began to form all sorts of plans. 

One of the officers — and how many agreed with 
him is not known, but the sentiment easily took 
this form — one of the officers wrote to Washing- 
ton that it was clear that Congress was a failure. 
The army had won independence, but no reliance 
could be placed on the Government. How much 
more stable was the Government of England ! 
Would not such a government be after all the best 
for America ? It might not be necessary to call 
the head of the government a king, though even 
that title many would prefer, but the head ought 
to have the power of a king. There was much 
more to the same effect, and the letter was really 
a feeler to see how Washington would look upon 
such a movement, which, of course, aimed to 
make him the monarch of the new nation. Wash- 
ington did not hesitate a moment, but wrote a let- 
ter which must have made the officer's ears tingle, 
however honest he may have been in his opinion. 
Washington said : 

" With a mixture of great surprise and astonishment, I have read 
with attention the sentiments you have submitted to my perusal. 
Be assured, sir, no occurrence in the course of the war has given 
me more painful sensations than your information of there being 
such ideas existing in the army as you ha*e expressed and I must 
view with abhorrence and reprehend with severity. For the present, 
the communication of them will rest in my own bosom, unless some 
further agitation of the matter shall make a disclosure necessary. 
I am much at a loss to conceive what part of my conduct could have 
given encouragement to an address, which, to me, seems big with 
the greatest mischief that can befall any country. If I am not de- 
ceived in the knowledge of myself, you could not have found a per- 
son to whom your schemes arc more disagreeable. At the same time, 
in justice to my own feelings, I must add, that no man possesses a 
more sincere wish to see ample justice done to the army than I do: 
and as far as my powers and influence in a constitutional way extend, 
they shall be employed to the utmost of my abilities to effect it, 
should there be any occasion. Let me conjure you, then, if you 
have any regard for your country, concern for yourself or posterity, 

or respect for me. to banish these thoughts from your mind, and 
never communicate, as from yourself or any one else, a sentiment of 
the like nature, " 

A graverperil arose, and Washington redeemed 
his promise to stand by the army. In spite of the 
united effort of the army and its friends in Congress, 
no satisfactory arrangement was made for paying 
the long-delayed wages due to the soldiers. On 
March 10, 1 7S3, a notice was issued in the 
camp at Newburgh, calling a meeting of the offi- 
cers. The notice was not signed by any name, 
and with it was sent out an address which rehearsed 
the wrongs suffered by the army and hinted that 
the time had come when the soldiers must take 
matters into their own hands and compel Con- 
gress to attend to their demands. It was an ap- 
peal to which the officers were ready to listen, and 
every one was in so excited a condition that it was 
impossible to say what might not be done. 

Washington, at any rate, saw there was great 
danger, and he at once seized the occasion. He 
issued an order calling attention to the address, and 
asking that the meeting should be postponed four 
days and then should convene at his invitation. 
This was to give the men time to cool off. When the 
day came, Washington, as soon as the meeting was 
called to order, made a long and powerful speech. 
He was not a ready speaker, and so, feeling the im- 
portance of the occasion, he had written out what he 
had to say, and he began to read it to the officers. 
He had read only a sentence, when he stopped, took 
out his spectacles, and said, as he put them on : 

" Gentlemen, you will pardon me for putting on 
my glasses. I have grown gray in your service, 
and I now find myself growing blind." 

It was a simple thing to say, and simply said, but 
it touched the soldiers, and made them very tender 
to their commander, and more ready even than 
before to listen to his counsel. Washington went 
en to say : 

" If my conduct heretofore has not evinced to you that I have 
been a faithful friend to the army, my declaration of it at this time 
would be equally unavailing and improper. But, as I was among 
the first who embarked in the cause of our common country ; as I 
have never left your side one moment, save when called from you on 
public duty ; as I have been the constant companion and witness of 
your distresses, and not among the last to feel and acknowledge 
your merits ; as I have considered my own military reputation as 
inseparably connected with that of the army; as my heart has ever 
expanded with joy, when I have heard its praises, and my indigna- 
tion has arisen, when the mouth of detraction has been opened 
against it ; it can scarcely be supposed, at this late stage of the war, 
that I am indifferent to its interests." 

He used all his personal influence to heal the 
breach between the army and Congress, and he 
brought the officers back to a more reasonable 
mind. All the while he was writing to members 
of Congress and doing his utmost to bring about a 
just treatment of the army. 



When the time came to disband the army, 2. The payment of all the debts contracted by 

Washington, ready as he was to go back to his the country in the war. 

home, could not forget that the work of the past 3. The establishment of a uniform militia sys- 

seven years would not be completed until the tern throughout the country. — He did not advise 

people which had become independent was united having a standing army, but he thought all the men 

tinder a strong government. He was the foremost should be drilled in their neighborhoods, formed 




man in the country ; he was also profoundly aware 
of the difficulties through which they were yet to 
pass, and he addressed a long letter to the gover- 
nors of the several States. Congress was weak and 
unable to take the lead. The States were each 
provided with governments, and were the real 
powers, but Washington saw clearly that it would 
not do to have thirteen independent governments in 
the country, each looking only after its own inter- 
ests. So in this letter he tried to show the States 
the importance of four things : 

1 . An indissoluble union of the States under one 

into companies, and be ready in any peril to take 
up arms again. 

4. The cultivation of a spirit of confidence be- 
tween different parts of the country. He had seen 
so much jealousy and prejudice that he knew how 
dangerous these were to the peace of the country. 

At last the time came when the army was dis- 
banded. ' A few of the troops only and their offi- 
cers went with Washington to New York when the 
British left the city. There was rejoicing every- 
where; but it was a sorrowful m